FATHER  STAFFORD 

A  LOVER'S  FATE  AND  A 
FRIEND'S  COUNSEL 


BY 


ANTHONY  HOPE 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  MAN  OF  MARK,"  "THE  PRISONER  OF 
ZENDA  " 


F.     TENNYSON    NEELY, 
114  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


Copyright  1891 

BY 

Cassbll  Publishing  Co* 
Copyright  1895 

BY 

P.  Tennyson  Nkelv. 


pa.fr 


> 

<: 

h  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Eugene  Lane  and  his  Guests 5 

II.  New  Faces  and  Old  Feuds 9 

co       III.  Father   Stafford   Changes    his    Habits, 

*""  and  Mr.  Haddington  his  Views 23 

(Sl       IV.  Sir  Roderick  Ayre  Inspects   Mr.  More- 
wood's  Masterpiece 48 

'-^        V.  How  Three   Gentlemen   Acted  for  the 

CO 

Best 62 

VI.  Father  Stafford  Keeps  Vigil 78 

VII.  An  Early  Train  and  a  Morning's  Amuse- 

^.  ment 90 

5  VIII.  Stafford  in  Retreat,  and  Sir  Roderick 

in  Action 103 

*       IX.  The  Battle  of  Baden 124 

i: 

It        X.  Mr.  Morewood  is  Moved  to  Indignation.  138 

O      XL  Waiting  Lady  Claudia's  Pleasure 154 

3    XII.  Lady  Claudia  is  Vexed  with  Mankind. .    167 

XIII.  A  Lover's  Fate  and  a  Friend's  Counsel.    183 

XIV.  Some  People  are  as   Fortunate   as  they 

Deserve  to  Be 200 

XV.  An  End  and  a  Beginning 212 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fatherstaffordloOOhope 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JEugene  Xane  anfc  bts  (Buesta. 


s^^^TjHE  world  considered  Eugene  Lane  a 
*'%  very  fortunate  young  man;  and  if 
|  youth,  health,  social  reputation,  a  seat 
in  Parliament,  a  large  income,  and 
finally  the  promised  hand  of  an  acknowledged 
beauty  can  make  a  man  happy,  the  world  was 
right.  It  is  true  that  Sir  Roderick  Ayre  had 
been  heard  to  pity  the  poor  chap  on  the  ground 
that  his  father  had  begun  life  in  the  work- 
house ;  but  everybody  knew  that  Sir  Roderick 
was  bound  to  exalt  the  claims  of  birth,  inas- 
much as  he  had  to  rely  solely  upon  them  for  a 
reputation,  and  discounted  the  value  of  his 
opinion  accordingly.  After  all,  it  was  not  as 
if  the  late  Mr.  Lane  had  ended  life  in  the  un- 
desirable shelter  in  question.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  latter  days  had  been  spent  in  the 
handsome  mansion  of  Millstead  Manor  ;  and, 
as  he  lay  on  his  deathbed,  listening  to  the 
Rector's  gentle  homily  on  the  vanity  of  riches, 


g  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

his  eyes  would  wander  to  the  window  and 
survey  a  wide  tract  of  land  that  he  called  his 
own,  and  left,  together  with  immense  sums  of 
money,  to  his  son,  subject  only  to  a  jointure 
for  his  wife.  It  is  hard  to  blame  the  tired  old 
man  if  he  felt,  even  with  the  homily  ringing 
in  his  ears,  that  he  had  not  played  his  part  in 
the  world  badly. 

Millstead  Manor  was  indeed  the  sort  of  place 
to  raise  a  doubt  as  to  the  utter  vanity  of  riches. 
It  was  situated  hard  by  the  little  village  of 
Millstead,  that  lies  some  forty  miles  or  so 
northwest  of  London,  in  the  middle  of  rich 
country.  The  neighborhood  afforded  shoot- 
ing, fishing,  and  hunting,  if  not  the  best  of 
their  kind,  yet  good  enough  to  satisfy  reason- 
able people.  The  park  was  large  and  well 
wooded  ;  the  house  had  insisted  on  remaining 
picturesque  in  spite  of  Mr.  Lane's  improve- 
ments, and  by  virtue  of  an  indelible  stamp  of 
antiquity  had  carried  its  point.  A  house  that 
dates  Irom  Elizabeth  is  not  to  be  entirely  put 
to  shame  by  one  or  two  unblushing  French 
windows  and  other  trifling  barbarities  of  that 
description,  more  especially  when  it  is  kept  in 
countenance  by  a  little  church  of  still  greater 
age,  nestling  under  its  wing  in  a  manner  that 
recalled  the  good  old  days  when  the  lord  of 
the  manor  was  lord  of  the  souls  and  bodies  of 
his  tenants.  Even  old  Mr.  Lane  had  been 
mellowed  by  the  influence  of  his  new  home, 
and  before  his  death  had  come  to  play  the 
part   of    Squire   far    more   respectably   than 


EUGENE  LANE  AND  HIS  GUESTS.  y 

might  be  imagined.  Eugene  sustained  the 
role  with  the  graceful  indolence  and  careless 
efficiency  that  marked  most  of  his  doings. 

He  stood  one  Saturday  morning  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  July  on  the  steps  that  led  from 
the  terrace  to  the  lawn,  holding  a  letter  in 
his  hand  and  softly  whistling.  In  appear- 
ance he  was  not,  it  must  be  admitted,  an  ideal 
Squire,  for  he  was  but  a  trifle  above  middle 
height,  rather  slight,  and  with  the  little  stoop 
that  tells  of  the  man  who  is  town-bred  and 
by  nature  more  given  to  indoor  than  outdoor 
exercises  ;  but  he  was  a  good-looking  fellow 
for  all  that,  with  a  bright  humorous  face, — 
though  at  this  moment  rather  a  bored  one, — - 
large  eyes  set  well  apart,  and  his  proper  allow- 
ance of  brown  hair  and  white  teeth.  Alto- 
gether, it  may  safely  be  said  that,  not  even  Sir 
Roderick's  nose  could  have  sniffed  the  work- 
house in  the  young  master  of  Millstead  Manor. 

Still  whistling,  Eugene  descended  the  steps 
and  approached  a  group  of  people  sitting 
under  a  large  copper-beech  tree.  A  still,  hot 
summer  morning  does  not  incline  the  mind  or 
the  body  to  activity,  and  all  of  them  had  sunk 
into  attitudes  of  ease.  Mrs.  Lane's  work  was 
reposing  in  her  lap  ;  her  sister,  Miss  Jane 
Chambers,  had  ceased  the  pretense  of  .read- 
ing ;  the  Rector  was  enjoying  what  he  kept 
assuring  himself  was  only  just  five  minutes' 
peace  before  he  crossed  over  to  his  parsonage 
and  his  sermon  ;  Lady  Claudia  Territon  and 
Miss  Katharine  Bernard  were  each  in  posses- 


g  FATHER  STAFFORD, 

sion  of  a  wicker  lounge,  while  at  their  feet  lay- 
two  young  men  in  flannels,  with  lawn-tennis 
racquets  lying  idle  by  them.  A  large  jug  of 
beer  close  to  the  elbow  of  one  of  them  com- 
pleted the  luxurious  picture  that  was  framed 
in  a  light  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  traceable  to 
the  person  who  also  was  obviously  responsible 
for  the  beer. 

As  Eugene  approached,  a  sudden  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him.  He  stopped  deliber- 
ately, and  with  great  care  lit  a  cigar. 

"Why  wasn't  I  smoking,  I  wonder!"  he 
said.  "  The  sight  of  Bob  Territon  reminded 
me."  Then  as  he  reached  them,  raising  his 
voice,  he  went  on  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  sorry  to  inter- 
rupt you,  and  with  bad  news." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear,"  asked  Mrs. 
Lane,  a  gentle  old  lady,  who  having  once  had 
the  courage  to  leave  the  calm  of  her  father's 
country  vicarage  to  follow  the  doubtful  fort- 
unes of  her  husband,  was  now  reaping  her 
reward  in  a  luxury  of  which  she  had  never 
dreamed. 

"With  the  arrival  of  the  4.15  this  after- 
noon," Eugene  continued,  "  our  placid  life 
will  be  interrupted,  and  one  of  Mr.  Eugene 
Lane,  M.P.'s,  celebrated  Saturday  to  Monday 
parties  (I  quote  from  The  Universe)  will 
begin." 

"  Who's  coming  ?  "  asked  Miss  Bernard. 

Miss  Bernard  was  the  acknowledged  beauty 
referred  to   in  the  opening  lines  of  this  chap- 


EUGENE  LANE  AND  HIS  GUESTS.  g 

ter,  whose  love  Eugene  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  secure.  Had  Eugene  not  been 
absurdly  rich  himself,  he  might  have  been 
congratulated  further  on  the  prospective  en- 
joyment of  a  nice  little  fortune  as  well  as  the 
lady's  favor. 

"  Is  Rickmansworth  coming  ?  "  put  in  Lady 
Claudia,  before  Eugene  had  time  to  reply  to 
his  fiancee. 

"  Be  at  peace,"  he  said,  addressing  Lady 
Claudia  ;  "  your  brother  is  not  coming.  I 
have  known  Rickmansworth  a  long  while, 
and  I  never  knew  him  to  be  polite.  He  in- 
quired by  telegram  (reply  not  paid)  who  were 
to  be  here.  When  I  wired  him,  telling  him 
whom  I  had  the  privilege  of  entertaining,  and 
requesting  an  immediate  reply  (not  paid),  he 
answered  that  he  thought  I  must  have  enough 
Territons  already,  and  he  didn't  want  to  make 
another." 

Neither  Lady  Claudia  nor  her  brother 
Robert,  who  was  the  young  man  with  the 
beer,  seemed  put  out  at  this  message.  In- 
deed, the  latter  went  so  far  as  to  say : 

"  Good  !     Have  some  beer,  Eugene  ?  " 

"  But  who  is  coming  ?  "  repeated  Miss  Kate. 
"  Really,  Eugene,  you  might  pay  a  little  at- 
tention to  me." 

"  Can't,  my  dear  Kate — not  in  public.  It's 
not  good  form,  is  it,  Lady  Claudia  ?  " 

"  Eugene,"  said  Mrs.  Lane,  in  a  tone  as 
nearly  severe  as  she  ever  arrived  at,  "if  you 
wish   your  guests    to   have  either   dinner  or 


IO 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


beds,  you  will  at  once  tell  me  who  and  how 
many  they  are." 

*'  My  dear  mother,  they  are  in  number  five, 
composed  as  follows  :  First,  the  Bishop  of 
Bellminster." 

'*  A  most  interesting  man,"  observed  Miss 
Chambers. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Aunt  Jane,"  re- 
sponded Eugene.  "  The  Bishop  is  accom- 
panied by  his  wife.  That  makes  two  ;  and 
then  old  Merton,  who  was  at  the  Colonial 
Office  you  know,  and  Morewood  the  painter 
make  four." 

"  Sir  George  Merton  is  a  Radical,  isn't  he  ?  " 
asked  Lady  Claudia  severely. 

"  He  tries  to  be,"  said  Eugene.  "  Shall  I 
order  a  carriage  to  take  you  to  the  station  ? 
I  think,  you  know,  you  can  stand  it,  with 
Haddington's  help." 

Mr.  Spencer  Haddington,  the  other  young 
man  in  flannels,  was  a  very  rising  member  of 
the  Conservative  party,  of  which  Lady  Claudia 
conceived  herself  to  be  a  pillar.  Identity  of 
political  views,  in  Mr.  Haddington's  opinion, 
might  well  pave  the  way  to  a  closer  union, 
and  this  hope  accounted  for  his  having  con- 
sented to  pair  with  Eugene,  who  sat  on  the 
other  side,  and  spend  the  last  week  in  idle- 
ness at  Millstead. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Robert  Territon,  "it 
sounds  slow,  old  man." 

"  Candid  family,  the  Territons,"  remarked 
Eugene  to  the  copper-beech. 


E  UGENE  LA  NB  A  ND  HIS  G  UES  TS.         z  j 

««  Who's  the  fifth  ?  you've  only  told  us  four," 
said  Kate,  who  always  stuck  to  the  point. 

"  The     fifth     is "  Eugene     paused       a 

moment,  as  though  preparing  a  sensation  ; 
"  the  fifth  is— Father  Stafford." 

Now  it  was  a  remarkable  thing  that  all  the 
ladies  looked  up  quickly  and  re-echoed  the 
name  of  the  last  guest  in  accents  of  awe, 
whereas  the  men  seemed  unaffected. 

"  Why,  where  did  you  pick  him  up  ?  "  asked 
Lady  Claudia. 

"  Pick  him  up  !  I've  known  Charley  Staf- 
ford since  we  were  both  that  high.  We  were 
at  Harrow  and  at  Oxford  together.  Rick- 
mansworth  knows  him,  Bob.  You  didn't 
come  till  he'd  left." 

"  Why  is  the  gentleman  called  '  Father '  ?  " 
said  Bob. 

"Because  he  is  a  priest,"  Miss  Chambers 
answered.  "  And  really,  Mr.  Territon,  you're 
very  ignorant.  Everybody  knows  Father 
Stafford.     You  do,  Mr.  Haddington  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Haddington,  "I've  heard  of 
him.  He's  an  Anglican  Father,  isn't  he  ? 
Had  a  big  parish  somewhere  down  the  Mile 
End  Road  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Eugene.  "  He's  an  old  and  a 
great  friend  of  mine.  He's  quite  knocked  up, 
poor  old  chap,  and  had  to  get  leave  of  absence  ; 
and  I've  made  him  promise  to  come  and  stay 
here  for  a  good  part  of  the  time,  to  rest." 

"  Then  he's  not  going  off  again  on  Mon- 
day ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lane. 


j 2  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not.  He's  writing  a  book  or 
something,  that  will  keep  him  from  being 
restless." 

"  How  charming  !  "  said  Lady  Claudia. 
"Don't  you  dote  on  him,  Kate?  Please, 
Mr.  Lane,  may  I  stay  too  ?  " 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Eugene,  "Stafford  has 
taken  a  vow  of  celibacy." 

"I  knew  that,"  said  Lady  Claudia  imper- 
turbably. 

Eugene  looked  mournful  ;  Bob  Territon 
groaned  tragically  ;  but  Lady  Claudia  was 
quite  unmoved,  and,  turning  to  the  Rector, 
who  sat  smiling  benevolently  on  the  young 
people,  asked  : 

"  Do  you  know  Father  Stafford,  Dr.  Den- 
nis ?  " 

•'  No.  I  should  be  much  interested  in 
meeting  him.  I've  heard  so  much  of  his  work 
and  his  preaching." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Claudia,  "  and  his  pen- 
ances and  fasting,  and  so  on." 

•'  Poor  old  Stafford  !  "  said  Eugene.  "  It's 
quite  enough  for  him  that  a  thing's  pleasant 
to  make  it  wrong." 

"  Not  your  philosophy,  Master  Eugene  ! " 
said  the  Rector. 

"  No,  Doctor." 

"  But  what's  this  vow  ?  "  asked  Kate. 

"  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  binding  vow  of 
celibacy  in  the  Anglican  Church,"  announced 
Miss  Chambers. 

"  Is  that  right,  Doctor  ?  "  said  Lady  Claudia. 


EUGENE  LANE  AND  HIS  GUESTS.  j, 

"  God  bless  me,  my  dear,"  said  the  Rector, 
- 1  don't  know.     There  wasn't  in  my  time." 

"But,  Eugene,  surely  I'm  right,"  persisted 
Aunt  Jane.  "  His  Bishop  can  dispense  him 
from  it,  can't  he  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  answered  Eugene,  "  He 
says  he  can." 

"  Who  says  he  can  ?  " 

"Why,  the  Bishop  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  of  course  he  can." 

"  All  right,"  said  Eugene;  "only  Stafford 
doesn't  think  so.  Not  that  he  wants  to  be 
released.  He  doesn't  care  a  bit  about  women 
— very  ungrateful,  as  they're  all  mad  about 
him." 

"  That's  very  rude,  Eugene,"  said  Kate,  in 
reproving  tones.  "  Admiration  for  a  saint  is 
not  madness.  Shall  we  go  in,  Claudia,  and 
leave  these  men  to  pipes  and  beer  ?  " 

"  One  for  you,  Rector ! "  chuckled  Bob 
Territon,  who  knew  no  reverence. 

The  two  girls  departed  somewhat  scorn- 
fully, arm  in  arm,  and  the  Rector  too  rose 
with  a  sigh,  and  accompanied  the  elder  ladies 
to  the  house,  whither  they  were  going  to  meet 
the  pony  carriage  that  stood  at  the  hall  door. 
A  daily  drive  was  part  of  Mrs.  Lane's  ritual. 

"By  the  way,  you  fellows,"  Eugene  re- 
sumed, throwing  himself  on  the  grass,  "1 
may  as  well  mention  that  Stafford  doesn't 
drink,  or  eat  meat,  or  smoke,  or  play  cards,  or 
anything  else." 

"  What  a  peculiar  beggar  !  "  said  Bob, 


j,  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  Yes,  and  he's  peculiar  in  another  way,** 
said  Eugene,  a  little  dryly  ;  "  he  particularly 
objects  to  any  remark  being  made  on  his 
habits — I  mean  on  what  he  eats  and  drinks 
and  so  on." 

"There  I  agree,"  said  Bob;  "I  object  to 
any  remarks  on  what  I  eat  and  drink  "  ;  and 
he  took  a  long  pull  at  the  beer. 

"  You  must  treat  him  with  respect,  young 
man.  Haddington,  I  know,  will  study  him  as 
a  phenomenon.  I  can't  protect  him  against 
that." 

Mr.  Haddington  smiled  and  remarked  that 
such  revivals  of  medievalism  were  interesting, 
if  morbid;  and  having  so  delivered  himself, 
he  too  went  his  way. 

"  That  chap's  considered  very  clever,  isn't 
he  ?  "  asked  Bob  of  his  host,  indicating  Had- 
dington's retreating  figure. 

"Very,  I  believe,"  said  Eugene.  "He's  a 
cuckoo,  you  see." 

"  Dashed  if  I  do,"  said  Bob. 

«*  He  steals  other  birds'  nests — eggs  and 
all." 

"Your  natural  history  is  a  trifle  mixed,  old 
fellow  ;  kindly  explain." 

"  Well,  he's  a  thief  of  ideas.  Never  was 
the  father  of  one  himself,  and  gets  his  living 
by  kidnapping." 

"  I  never  knew  such  a  chap  !  "  ejaculated 
Bob  helplessly.  "  Why  can't  you  say  plainly 
that  you  think  he's  an  ass  ?  " 

"  I  don't,"  said  Eugene.    "  He's  by  no  means 


EUGENE  LANE  AND  HIS  GUESTS.  j  <- 

an  ass.       He's  a  very  clever  fellow.     But  he 
lives  on  other  men's  ideas  !  " 
"Oh  !  come  and  play  billiards." 
"  I  can't,"  said  Eugene  gravely.      '*  I'm  go- 
ing to  read  poetry  to  Kate." 

"  By  Jove,  does  she  make  you  do  that  ?  " 
Eugene  nodded  sadly,  and  Bob  went  off 
into  a  fit  of  obtrusive  chuckling.  Eugene 
cast  a  large  cushion  dexterously  at  him  and 
caught  him  just  in  the  mouth,  and,  still  sadly, 
rose  and  went  in  search  of  his  lady-love. 

"Why  the  dickens  does  he  marry  that 
girl  ?  "  exclaimed  Bob.     "  It  beats  me." 

Bob  Territon  was  not  the  only  person  in 
whom  Eugene's  engagement  to  Kate  Bernard 
inspired  some  surprise.  But  neither  he  nor 
any  one  else  succeeded  in  formulating  very 
definite  reasons  for  the  feeling.  Kate  was  a 
beauty,  and  a  beauty  of  a  type  undeniably 
orthodox  and  almost  aristocratic.  She  was 
tall  and  slight,  her  nose  was  the  least  trifle 
arched,  her  fingers  tapered,  and  so,  it  was  be- 
lieved, did  her  feet.  Her  hair  was  golden, 
her  mouth  was  small,  and  her  accomplish- 
ments considerable.  From  her  childhood  she 
had  been  considered  clever,  and  had  vindicated 
her  reputation  by  gaining  more  than  one  cer- 
tificate from  the  various  examining  bodies 
which  nowadays  go  up  and  down  seeking 
whom  they  may  devour.  All  these  varied  ex- 
cellences Eugene  had  had  full  opportunities  of 
appreciating,  for  Kate  was  a  distant  cousin 
of  his  on  the    mother's  side,  and  had  spent  a 


jg  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

large  part  oi  the  last  few  years  at  the  Manor. 
It  was,  in  fact,  so  obviously  the  duty  of  the 
two  young  people  to  fall  in  love  with  one 
another,  that  the  surprise  exhibited  by  their 
friends  could  only  have  been  based  on  a  some- 
what cynical  view  of  humanity.  The  cynics 
ought  to  have  considered  themselves  confuted 
by  the  fait  accompli,  but  they  refused  to  do  so, 
and,  led  by  Sir  Roderick  Ayre,  had  been  known 
to  descend  to  laying  five  to  four  against  the 
permanency  of  the  engagement — an  obviously 
coarse  and  improper  proceeding. 

It  is  possible  that  the  odds  might  have  risen 
a  point  or  two,  had  these  reprehensible  per- 
sons been  present  at  the  little  scene  which 
occurred  on  the  terrace,  whither  the  girls  had 
betaken  themselves,  and  Eugene  in  his  turn 
repaired  when  he  had  armed  himself  with 
Tennyson.  As  he  approached  Claudia  rose  to 
go  and  leave  the  lovers  to  themselves. 

"  Don't  go,  Lady  Claudia,"  said  Eugene. 
*'  I'm  not  going  to  read  anything  you  ought 
not  to  hear." 

Of  course  it  was  the  right  thing  for  Claudia 
to  go,  and  she  knew  it.  But  she  was  a  mis- 
chievous body,  and  the  sight  of  a  cloud  on 
Kate's  brow  had  upon  her  exactly  the  oppo- 
site effect  to  what  it  ought  to  have  had. 

"  You  don't  really  want  me  to  stay,  do  you  ? 
Wouldn't  you  two  rather  be  alone  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Much  rather  have  you,"  Eugene  answered. 

Kate  rose  with  dignity. 


EUGENE  LANE  AND  HIS  GUESTS.  j-j 

"  We  need  not  discuss  that,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  letters  to  write,  and  am  going  indoors." 

«<Oh,  I  say,  Kate,  don't  do  that  !  I  came 
out  on  purpose  to  read  to  you." 

"  Lady  Claudia  is  quite  ready  to  make  an 
audience  for  you,"  was  the  chilling  reply,  as 
Kate  vanished  through  the  open  door. 

"  There,  you've  done  it  now  !  "  said  Eu- 
gene. "You  really  ought  not  to  insist  on 
staying." 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Lane.  But  it's  all  your 
fault."  And  Claudia  tried  to  make  her  face 
assume  a  look  of  gravity. 

A  pause  ensued,  and  then  they  both  smiled. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  read  ?  "  asked 
Claudia. 

"  Oh,  Tennyson — always  read  Tennyson. 
Kate  likes  it,  because  she  thinks  it's  simple." 

"  You  flatter  yourself  that  you  see  the 
deeper  meaning  ?  " 

Eugene  smiled  complacently. 

"  And  you  mean  Kate  doesn't  ?  I'm  glad 
I'm  not  engaged  to  you,  Mr.  Lane,  if  that's 
the  kind  of  thing  you  say." 

Eugene  opened  his  mouth,  shut  it  again, 
and  then  said  blandly  : 

"  So  am  I." 

"  Thank  you  !     You  need  not  be  afraid." 

"  If  I  were  engaged  to  you,  I  mightn't  like 
you  so  well." 

A  slight  blush  became  visible  on  Claudia's 
usually  pale  cheek. 

Eugene  looked  away  toward  the  horizon. 
2 


jg  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

"  I  like  the  way  quite  pale  people  blush," 
he  said. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Mr.  Lane  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  appreciate  my  character. 
I  want  many  things  I  can't  have — a  great 
many." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Claudia,  still  blushing 
under  the  mournful  gaze  which  accompanied 
those  words.  '*  Do  you  want  anything  you 
can  have  ? " 

"  Yes  !  I  want  you  to  stay  several  more 
weeks." 

"  I'm  going  to  stay,"  said  Claudia. 

"How  kind  !  "  exclaimed  Eugene. 

««  Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

«•  My  modesty  forbids  me  to  think." 

"  I  want  to  see  a  lot  of  Father  Stafford  ! 
Good-by,  Mr.  Lane.  I'll  leave  you  to  your 
private  and  particular  understanding  of 
Tennyson." 

"Claudia  !" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  she  whispered,  in 
tones  of  exasperation.  "  It's  very  wicked 
and  very  impertinent — and  the  library  door's 
open,  and  Kate's  in  there  !  " 

Eugene  fell  back  in  his  chair  with  a  horri- 
fied look,  and  Claudia  rushed  into  the  house. 


■J 


NEIV  FACES  AND  OLD  FEUDS.  IQ 


CHAPTER  II. 

Iflew  ffaces  and  ©ID  tfeuDs. 

y^jflHERE  was,  no  doubt,  some  excuse 
jf/ip|f!lf  for  the  interest  that  the  ladies  at 
1111111    Millstead    Manor   had    betrayed  on 


yed 

"*""'  ^  hearing  the  name  of  Father  Stafford. 
In  these  days,  when  the  discussion  of  theo- 
logical topics  has  emerged  from  the  study  into 
the  street,  there  to  jostle  persons  engaged  in 
their  lawful  business,  a  man  who  makes  for 
himself  a  position  as  a  prominent  champion 
of  any  view  becomes,  to  a  considerable  extent, 
a  public  character  ;  and  Charles  Stafford's 
career  had  excited  much  notice.  Although 
still  a  young  man  but  little  past  thirty,  he  was 
adored  by  a  powerful  body  of  followers,  and 
received  the  even  greater  compliment  of 
hearty  detestation  from  all,  both  within  and 
without  the  Church,  to  whom  his  views  seem-, 
ed  dangerous  and  pernicious.  He  had  admin- 
istered a  large  parish  with  distinction  ;  he 
had  written  a  treatise  of  profound  patristic 
learning  and  uncompromising  sacerdotal  pre- 
tensions. He  had  defended  the  institution  of 
a  celibate  priesthood,  and  was  known  to  have 
treated  the  Reformation  with  even  less  respect 


20 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


than  it  has  been  of  late  accustomed  to  receive. 
He  had  done  more  than  all  this  :  he  had 
impressed  all  who  met  him  with  a  character 
of  absolute  devotion  and  disinterestedness,  and 
there  were  many  who  thought  that  a  successor 
to  the  saints  might  be  found  in  Stafford,  if 
anywhere  in  this  degenerate  age.  Yet  though 
he  was,  or  was  thought  to  be,  all  this,  his 
friends  were  yet  loud  in  declaring — and  ever 
foremost  among  them  Eugene  Lane— that  a 
better,  simpler,  or  more  modest  man  did  not 
exist.  For  the  weakness  of  humanity,  it  may 
be  added  that  Stafford's  appearance  gave  him 
fully  the  external  aspect  most  suitable  to  the 
part  his  mind  urged  him  to  play ;  for  he 
was  tall  and  spare  ;  his  fine-cut  face,  clean 
shaven,  displayed  the  penetrating  eyes,  prom- 
inent nose,  and  large  mobile  mouth  that  the 
memory  associates  with  pictures  of  Italian 
prelates  who  were  also  statesmen.  These 
personal  characteristics,  combined  with  his 
attitude  on  Church  matters,  caused  him  to  be 
familiarly  known  among  the  flippant  by  the 
nickname  of  the  Pope. 

Eugene  Lane  stood  upon  his  hearthrug, 
conversing  with  the  Bishop  of  Bellminster  and 
covertly  regarding  his  betrothed  out  of  the 
corner  of  an  apprehensive  eye.  They  had 
not  met  alone  since  the  morning,  and  he  was 
naturally  anxious  to  find  out  whether  that 
unlucky  "Claudia"  had  been  overheard. 
Claudia  herself  was  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  Mr.  Morewood,  the  well-known  artist; 


NE W  FACES,  AND  OLD  FEUDS. 


21 


and  Stafford,  who  had  only  arrived  just  before 
dinner,  was  still  busy  in  answering  Mrs. 
Lane's  questions  about  his  health.  Sir  George 
Merton  had  failed  at  the  last  moment,  "  like  a 
Radical,"  said  Claudia. 

"  I  am  extremely  interested  in  meeting  your 
friend  Father  Stafford,"  said  the  Bishop. 

"Well,  he's  a  first-rate  fellow,"  replied 
Eugene.     "  I'm  sure  you'll  like  him." 

"  You  young  fellows  call  him  the  Pope, 
don't  you  ?  "  asked  his  lordship,  who  was  a 
genial  man. 

"  Yes.  You  don't  mind,  do  you  ?  It's  not 
as  if  we  called  him  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury, you  know." 

"I  shouldn't  consider  even  that  very  per- 
sonal," said  the  Bishop,  smiling. 

Dinner  was  announced.  Eugene  gave  the 
Bishop's  wife  his  arm,  whispering  to  Claudia 
as  he  passed,  "  Age  before  impudence  "  ;  and 
that  young  lady  found  that  she  had  fallen  to 
the  lot  of  Stafford,  whereat  she  was  well 
pleased.  Kate  was  paired  with  Haddington, 
and  Mr.  Morewood  with  Aunt  Jane.  The 
Bishop,  of  course,  escorted  the  hostess. 

"And  who,"  said  he,  almost  as  soon  as  he 
was  comfortably  settled  to  his  soup,  "  is  the 
young  lady  sitting  by  our  friend  the  Father — 
the  one,  I  mean,  with  dark  hair,  not  Miss  Ber- 
nard ?     I  know  her." 

"  That's  Lady  Claudia  Territon,"  said  Mrs. 
Lane.  "  Very  pretty,  isn't  she  ?  and  really  a 
very  good  girl." 


22 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


"Do  you  say  'really*  because,  unless  you 
did,  I  shouldn't  believe  it  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a 
smile. 

Mrs.  Lane  had  been  moved  by  this  idea,  but 
not  consciously  and,  a  little  distressed  at  sus- 
pecting herself  of  an  unkindness,  entertained 
the  Bishop  with  an  entirely  fanciful  catalogue 
of  Claudia's  virtues,  which,  being  overheard 
by  Bob  Territon,  who  had  no  lady,  and  was 
at  liberty  to  listen,  occasioned  him  immense 
entertainment. 

Claudia,  meanwhile,  was  drifting  into  a  state 
of  some  annoyance.  Stafford  was  very  court- 
eous and  attentive,  but  he  drank  nothing,  and 
apparently  proposed  to  dine  off  dry  bread. 
When  she  began  to  question  him  about  his 
former  parish,  instead  of  showing  the  grati- 
tude that  might  be  expected,  he  smiled  a  smile 
that  she  found  pleasure  in  describing  as  in- 
scrutable, and  said  : 

'*  Please  don't  talk  down  to  me,  Lady 
Claudia." 

"  I  have  been  taught,"  responded  Claudia, 
rather  stiffly,  "  to  talk  about  subjects  in  which 
my  company  is  presumably  interested." 

Stafford  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  he  had  become  used 
to  more  submission  than  Claudia  seemed  in- 
clined to  give  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  are  quite  right. 
Let  us  talk  about  it." 

"  No,  I  won't.  We  will  talk  about  you. 
You've  been  very  ill,  Father  Stafford  ?  " 


NE IV  FACES  A ND  OLD  FE UDS.  2 Z 

"  A  little  knocked  up." 

"  I  don't  wonder  !  "  she  said,  with  an  irri- 
tated glance  at  his  plate,  which  was  now 
furnished  with  a  potato. 

He  saw  the  glance. 

"  It  wasn't  that,"  he  said  ;  "  that  suits  me 
very  well." 

Claudia  knew  that  a  pretty  girl  may  say 
most  things,  so  she  said  : 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  You're  killing  your- 
self. Why  don't  you  do  as  the  Bishop 
does  ?  " 

The  Bishop,  good  man,  was  at  this  moment 
drinking  champagne. 

"  Men  have  different  ways  of  living,"  he 
answered  evasively. 

"  I  think  yours  is  a  very  bad  way.  Why  do 
you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  decline 
to  discuss  the  question  just  now.  I  notice 
you  take  a  little  wine.  You  probably  would 
not  care  to  explain  why." 

"  I  take  it  because  I  like  it." 

"  And  I  don't  take  it  because  I  like  it." 

Claudia  had  a  feeling  that  she  was  being 
snubbed,  and  her  impression  was  confirmed 
when  Stafford,  a  moment  afterward,  turned 
to  Kate  Bernard,  who  sat  on  his  left  hand, 
and  was  soon  deep  in  reminiscences  of  old 
visits  to  the  Manor,  with  which  Kate  con- 
trived to  intermingle  a  little  flattery  that 
Stafford  recognized  only  to  ignore.  They  had 
known  one  another  well  in    earlier  days,  and 


g.  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

Kate  was  immensely  pleased  at  finding  her 
playfellow  both  famous  and  not  forgetful. 

Eugene  looked  on  from  his  seat  at  the  foot 
of  the  table  with  silent  wonder.  Here  was  a 
man  who  might  and  indeed  ought  to  talk  to 
Claudia,  and  yet  was  devoting  himself  to 
Kate. 

"  I  suppose  it's  on  the  same  principle  that 
he  takes  water  instead  of  champagne,"  he 
thought  ;  but  the  situation  amused  him,  and 
he  darted  at  Claudia  a  look  that  conveyed 
to  that  young  lady  the  urgent  idea  that  she 
was,  as  boys  say,  "  dared  "  to  make  Father 
Stafford  talk  to  her.  This  was  quite  enough. 
Helped  by  the  unconscious  alliance  of  Had- 
dington, who  thought  Miss  Bernard  had  let 
him  alone  quite  long  enough,  she  seized  her 
opportunity,  and  said  in  the  softest  voice  : 

"  Father  Stafford  ?  " 

Stafford  turned  his  head,  and  found  fixed 
upon  him  a  pair  of  large,  dark  eyes,  brimming 
over  with  mingled  contrition  and  admiration. 

'*  I  am  so  sorry — but — but  I  thought  you 
looked  so  ill." 

Stafford  was  unpleasantly  conscious  of  be- 
ing human.  The  triumph  of  wickedness  is  a 
spectacle  from  which  we  may  well  avert  our 
eyes.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  Claudia  returned  Eugene's  glance 
with  a  look  of  triumph  and  scorn. 

Meanwhile,  trouble  had  arisen  between  the 
Bishop  and  Mr.  Morewood.  Morewood  was 
an  artist  of  great  ability,  originality,  and  skill ; 


NEW  FACES  AND  OLD  FEUDS.  25 

and  if  he  had  not  attained  the  honors  of  the 
Academy,  it  was  perhaps  more  of  his  own 
fault  than  that  of  the  exalted  body  in  question, 
as  he  always  treated  it  with  an  ostentatious 
contumely.  After  all,  the  Academy  must  be 
allowed  its  feelings.  Moreover,  his  opinions 
on  many  subjects  were  known  to  be  extreme, 
and  he  was  not  chary  of  displaying  them.  He 
was  sitting  on  Mrs.  Lane's  left,  opposite  the 
Bishop,  and  the  latter  had  started  with  his 
hostess  a  discussion  of  the  relation  between 
religion  and  art.  All  went  harmoniously 
for  a  time  ;  they  agreed  that  religion  had 
ceased  to  inspire  art,  and  that  it  was  a  very 
regrettable  thing ;  and  there,  one  would  have 
thought  the  subject — not  being  a  new  one — 
might  well  have  been  left.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, Mr.  Morewood  broke  in  : 

"  Religion  has  ceased  to  inspire  art  because 
it  has  lost  its  own  inspiration,  and  having  so 
ceased,  it  has  lost  its  only  use." 

The  Bishop  was  annoyed.  A  well-bred 
man  himself,  he  disliked  what  seemed  to  him 
ill-bred  attacks  on  opinions  which  his  position 
proclaimed  him  to  hold. 

"You  cannot  expect  me  to  assent  to  either 
of  your  propositions,  Mr.  Morewood,"  he  said. 
"  If  I  believed  them,  you  know,  I  should  not 
be  in  the  place  I  am." 

"  They're  true,  for  all  that,"  retorted  More- 
wood.     "  And  what  is  it  to  be  traced  to  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  poor  Mrs. 
Lane. 


2 5  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

•'  Why,  to  Established  Churches,  of  course. 
As  long  as  fancies  and  imaginary  beings  are 
left  free  to  each  man  to  construct  or  destroy 
as  he  will, — or  again,  I  may  say,  as  long  as 
they  are  fluid, — they  subserve  the  pleasurable- 
ness  of  life.  But  when  you  take  in  hand  and 
make  a  Church  out  of  them,  and  all  that,  what 
can  you  expect  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  must  be  confusing  the  Church 
with  the  Royal  Academy,"  observed  the  Bishop, 
with  some  acidity. 

"  There  would  be  plenty  of  excuse  for  me, 
if  I  did,"  replied  Morewood.  "There's  no 
truth  and  no  zeal  in  either  of  them." 

"If  you  please,  we  will  not  discuss  the 
truth.  But  as  to  the  zeal,  what  do  you  say  to 
the  example  of  it  among  us  now  ?  "  And  the 
Bishop,  lowering  his  voice,  indicated  Stafford. 

Morewood  directed  a  glance  at  him. 

"  He's  mad  !  "  he  said  briefly. 

••  I  wish  there  were  a  few  more  with  the 
same  mania  about." 

"  You  don't  believe  all  he  does  ? " 

"  Perhaps  I  can't  see  all  he  does,"  said  the 
Bishop,  with  a  touch  of  sadness. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  longer  in  the  cave,  and  per- 
haps I  have  peered  too  much  through  cave- 
spectacles." 

Morewood  looked  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"  I'm  sorry  if  I've  been  rude,  Bishop,"  he 
said  more  quietly,  "  but  a  man  must  say  what 
he  thinks." 


NE IV  FA  CES  A  ND  OLD  FE  UDS.  2 7 

"  Not  at  all  times,"  said  the  Bishop  ;  and 
he  turned  pointedly  to  Mrs.  Lane  and  began 
to  discuss  indifferent  matters. 

Morewood  looked  round  with  a  discontented 
air.  Miss  Chambers  was  mortally  angry  with 
him  and  had  turned  to  Bob  Territon,  whom 
she  was  trying  to  pursuade  to  come  to  a  bazaar 
at  Bellminster  on  the  Monday.  Bob  was 
recalcitrant,  and  here  too  the  atmosphere 
became  a  little  disturbed.  The  only  people 
apparently  content  were  Kate  and  Haddington 
and  Lady  Claudia  and  Stafford.  To  the  rest 
it  was  a  relief  when  Mrs.  Lane  gave  the  signal 
to  rise. 

Matters  improved,  however,  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  Bishop  and  Stafford  were  soon 
deep  in  conversation  ;  and  Claudia,  thus  de- 
prived of  her  former  companion,  condescended 
to  be  very  gracious  to  Mr.  Morewood,  in  the 
secret  hope  that  that  eccentric  genius  would 
make  her  the  talk  of  the  studios  next  summer 
by  painting  her  portrait.  Haddington  and 
Bob  had  vanished  with  cigars  ;  and  Eugene 
looking  round  and  seeing  that  all  was  peace, 
said  to  himself  in  an  access  of  dutifulness. 
"  Now  for  it  !  "  and  crossed  over  to  where  Kate 
sat,  and  invited  her  to  accompany  him  into  the 
garden. 

Kate  acquiesced,  but  showed  little  other 
sign  of  relaxing  her  attitude  of  lofty  displeas- 
ure.    She  left  Eugene  to  begin. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Kate,  if  you  were  vexed 
this  morning." 


28  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

Absolute  silence. 

"  But,  you  see,  as  host  here,  I  couldn't  very 
well  turn  out  Lady  Claudia." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  Claudia  ? "  asked 
Kate,  in  sarcastic  tones. 

Eugene  felt  inclined  to  fly,  but  he  recognized 
that  his  only  chance  lay  in  pretending  inno- 
cence when  he  had  it  not. 

"  Are  we  to  quarrel  about  a  trifle  of  that 
sort  ?  "  he  asked  ;  <<  a  girl  I've  known  like  a 
sister  for  the  last  ten  years  !  " 

Kate  smiled  bitterly. 

'*  Do  you  really  suppose  that  deceives  me  ? 
Of  course  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  falling  in 
love  with  Claudia  ;  but  it's  very  bad  taste  to 
have  anything  at  all  like  flirtation  with  her." 

"  Quite  right  ;  it  is.  It  shall  not  occur 
again.      Isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

Kate,  in  spite  of  her  confidence,  was  not 
anxious  to  drive  Eugene  with  too  tight  a  rein, 
so,  with  a  nearer  approach  to  graciousness 
she  allowed  it  to  appear  that  it  was  enough. 

"  Then  come  along,"  he  said,  passing  his 
arm  around  her  waist,  and  running  her  briskly 
along  the  terrace  to  a  seat  at  the  end,  where 
he  deposited  her. 

"  Really,  Eugene,  one  would  think  you  were 
a  schoolboy.     Suppose  any  one  had  seen  us  !  " 
"  Some  one  did,"  said  Eugene  composedly, 
lighting  his  cigar. 
"  Who  ?  " 

"  Haddington.  He  was  sitting  on  the  step 
of  the  sun-dial,  smoking." 


NEW  FA  CES  AND  OLD  FEUDS.  2Q 

"How  annoying!  What's  he  doing 
there  ?  " 

"  If  you  ask  me,  I  expect  he's  waiting  on  the 
chance  of  Lady  Claudia  coming  out." 

"  I  should  think  it  very  unlikely,"  said  Kate, 
with  an  impatient  tap  of  her  foot;  "and  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  do  such  things." 

Eugene  smiled  ;  and  having  thus,  as  he  con- 
ceived, partly  avenged  himself,  devoted  the 
next  ten  minutes  to  orthodox  love-making, 
with  the  warmth  of  which  Kate  had  no  reason 
to  be  discontent.  On  the  expiration  of  that 
time  he  pleaded  his  obligations  as  a  host,  and 
they  returned  to  the  house,  Kate  much  molli- 
fied, Eugene  with  the  peaceful  but  fatigued 
air  that  tells  of  duty  done. 

Before  going  to  bed,  Stafford  and  Eugene 
managed  to  get  a  few  words  together.  Leav- 
ing the  other  men,  except  the  Bishop,  who 
was  already  at  rest,  in  the  billiard-room,  they 
strolled  out  together  on  to  the  terrace. 

"  Well,  old  man,  how  are  you  getting  on  ?  " 
asked  Eugene. 

"Capitally  !  stronger  everyday  in  body  and 
happier  in  mind.  I  grumbled  a  great  deal 
when  I  first  broke  down,  but  now  I'm  not 
sure  a  rest  isn't  good  for  me.  You  can  stop 
and  have  a  look  where  you  are  going  to." 

"  And  you  think  you  can  stand  it  ?  " 

'*  Stand  what,  my  dear  fellow  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  life  you  lead — a  life  studiously 
emptied  of  everything  that  makes  life  pleas- 
ant" 


-jq  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  like  Lady  Claudia  !  "  said 
Stafford,  smiling.  "  I  can  tell  you,  though, 
what  I  can  hardly  tell  her.  There  are  some 
men  who  can  make  no  terms  with  the  body. 
Does  that  sound  very  mediaeval  ?  I  mean 
men  who,  usless  they  are  to  yield  utterly  to 
pleasure,  must  have  no  dealings  with  it." 

"  You  boycott  pleasure  for  fear  of  being 
too  fond  of  it  ?'' 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  lay  down  that  rule  for 
everybody.  For  me  it  is  the  right  and  only 
one." 

"  You  think  it  right  for  a  good  many  peo- 
ple, though  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  the  many-headed  beast 
is  strong." 

"  For  me  ?  " 

"Wait  till  I  get  at  you  from  the  pulpit." 

"No  ;  tell  me  now." 

"  Honestly  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  I  take  that  for  granted." 

"Well,  then,  old  fellow,"  said  he,  laying  a 
hand  on  Eugene's  arm,  with  a  slight  gesture 
of  caress  not  unusual  with  him,  "in  candor 
and  without  unkindness,  yes  !  " 

"I  could  never  do  it,"  said  Eugene. 

•"  Perhaps  not — or,  at  least,  not  yet." 

*'  Too  late  or  too  early,  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  so,  but  I  will  not  say  so." 

"  You  know  I  think  you're  all  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  know." 

"You  will  fail." 

"God  forbid  !  but  if  he  pleases " 


NE  W  FACES  A ND  OLD  FE UDS.  ,  j 

"  After  all,  what  are  meat,  wine,  and — and 
so  on  for  ?  " 

"  That  argument  is  beneath  you,  Eugene." 

"  So  it  is.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  might 
as  well  ask  what  the  hangman  is  for  if  nobody 
is  to  be  hanged.  However,  I'm  determined 
that  you  shall  enjoy  yourself  for  a  week  here, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not." 

Stafford  smiled  gently  and  bade  him  good- 
night. A  moment  later  Bob  Territon 
emerged  from  the  open  windows  of  the  bill- 
iard-room. 

"  Of  all  dull  dogs,  Haddington's  the  worst  ; 
however,  I've  won  five  pound  of  him  !  Hist  ! 
Is  the  Father  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  he  is  not." 

"  Oh  !  Have  you  squared  it  with  Miss 
Kate  ?     I  saw  something  was  up." 

"  Miss  Bernard's  heart,  Bob,  and  mine 
again  beat  as  one." 

"What  was  it  particularly  about?  " 

"  An  immaterial  matter." 

"  I  say,  did  you  see  the  Father  and  Clau- 
dia?" 

"  No.     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Gammon !  I  tell  you  what,  Eugene,  if 
Claudia  really  puts  her  back  into  it,  I  wouldn't 
give  much  for  that  vow  of  celibacy." 

"Bob,"  said  Eugene,  "you  don't  know 
Stafford  ;  and  your  expression  about  your  sis- 
ter is — well,  shall  I  say  lacking  in  refine- 
ment ?  " 

"  Haddington  didn't  like  it." 


,2  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"Damn  Haddington,  and  you  too!"  said 
Eugene  impatiently,  walking  away. 

Bob  looked  after  him  with  a  chuckle,  and 
exclaimed  enigmatically  to  the  silent  air, 
"  Six  to  four,  t.  and  o." 


CHANGES  OF  HABITS  AND  VIEIVS. 


X 


CHAPTER  III. 

ffatbet  Stafford  changes  bis  Ibabfts,  and 
HSbx.  IbaODtngton  bis  Diews. 

]OR  sheer  placid  enjoyment  and  pleas- 
antness of  living,  there  is  nothing 
like  a  sojourn  in  a  well-appointed 
country  house,  peopled  by  well- 
assorted  guests.  The  guests  at  Millstead 
Manor  were  not  perhaps  particularly  well- 
assorted  ;  but  nevertheless  the  hours  passed 
by  in  a  round  of  quiet  delights,  and  the  long 
summer  days  seemed  in  no  wise  tedious. 
The  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Bartlett  had  reluctantly 
gone  to  open  the  bazaar,  and  Miss  Chambers 
went  with  them,  but  otherwise  the  party  was 
unchanged  ;  for  Morewood,  who  had  come 
originally  only  for  two  days,  had  begged 
leave  to  stay,  received  it  on  condition  of  show- 
ing due  respect  to  everybody's  prejudices, 
telegraphed  for  his  materials,  and  was  fitfully 
busy  making  sketches,  not  of  Lady  Claudia, 
to  her  undisguised  annoyance,  but  of  Stafford, 
with  whose  face  he  had  been  wonderfully 
struck.  Stafford  himself  was  the  only  one  of 
the  party,  besides  his  artistic  tormentor,  who 
had  not  abandoned  himself  to  the  charms  of 
3 


,  .  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

idleness.  His  great  work  was  understood  to 
make  rapid  progress  between  six  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  he  always  rose,  and  half-past  nine, 
when  the  party  assembled  at  breakfast  ;  and 
he  was  also  busy  in  writing  a  reply  to  a  dar- 
ing person  who  had  recently  asserted  in  print 
that  on  the  whole  the  less  said  about  the 
Council  of  Chalcedon  the  better. 

"The  Pope's  wild  about  it  !"  reported  Bob 
Territon  to  the  usual  after-breakfast  group  on 
the  lawn :  "  says  the  beggar's  impudence 
licks  him." 

"  He  shall  not  work  any  more,"  exclaimed 
Claudia,  darting  into  the  house,  whence  she 
presently  emerged,  followed  by  Stafford,  who 
resignedly  sat  himself  down  with  them. 

Such  forcible  interruptions  of  his  studies 
were  by  no  means  uncommon.  Eugene,  how- 
ever, who  was  of  an  observant  turn,  noticed — 
and  wondered  if  others  did — that  the  raids  on 
his  seclusion  were  much  more  apt  to  be  suc- 
cessful when  Claudia  headed  them  than  under 
other  auspices.  The  fact  troubled  him,  not 
only  from  certain  unworthy  feelings  which  he 
did  his  best  to  suppress,  but  also  because  he 
saw  nothing  but  harm  to  be  possible  from  any 
close  rapprochement  between  Claudia  and 
Stafford.  Kate,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  to 
him  to  have  set  herself  the  task  of  throwing 
them  together  ;  with  what  motive  he  could 
not  understand,  unless  it  were  the  recollection 
of  his  ill-fated  "Claudia."  He  did  not  think 
this  explanation   very  convincing,  for  he  was 


CHANGES  OF  HABITS  AND  VIEWS.  .,  C 

well  aware  that  Kate's  scorn  of  Claudia's 
attractions,  as  compared  with  her  own,  was 
perfectly  genuine,  and  such  a  state  of  mind 
would  not  produce  the  certainly  active  efforts 
she  put  forth.  In  truth,  Eugene,  though 
naturally  observant,  was,  like  all  men,  a  little 
blind  where  he  himself  was  concerned;  and 
perhaps  a  shrewd  spectator  would  have  con- 
nected Haddington  in  some  way  with  Miss 
Kate's  maneuvers.  Such,  at  any  rate,  was 
the  view  of  Bob  Territon,  and  no  doubt  he 
would  have  expressed  it  with  his  usual  frank- 
ness  if  he  had  not  had  his  own  reasons  for 
keeping  silence. 

Stafford's  state  of  mind  was  somewhat  pe- 
culiar. A  student  from  his  youth,  to  whom 
invisible  things  had  always  seemed  more  real 
than  visible,  and  hours  of  solitude  better  filled 
than  busy  days,  he  had  had  but  little  experi- 
ence of  that  sort  of  humanity  among  which 
he  found  himself.  A  man  may  administer  a 
cure  of  souls  with  marked  efficiency  in  the 
Mile  End  Road,  and  yet  find  himself  much  at 
«i  loss  when  confronted  with  the  latest  prod- 
ucts of  the  West  End.  The  renunciation 
of  the  world,  except  so  far  as  he  could  aid  in 
mending  it,  had  seemed  an  easy  and  cheap 
price  to  pay  for  the  guerdon  he  strove  for,  to 
one  who  had  never  seen  how  pleasant  this 
wicked  world  can  look  in  certain  of  its  aspects. 
Hitherto,  at  school,  at  college,  and  after- 
ward, he  had  resolutely  turned  away  from  all 
opportunities  of  enlarging  his  experience   in 


-6  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

this  direction.  He  had  shunned  society,  and 
had  taken  great  pains  to  restrict  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  many  devout  ladies  who  had 
sought  him  out  to  the  barest  essentials  of 
what  ought  to  have  been,  if  it  was  not  always, 
their  purpose  in  seeking  him.  The  prince  ot 
this  world  was  now  preparing  a  more  subtle 
attack  ;  and  under  the  seeming  compulsion 
of  common  prudence  no  less  than  of  old  friend- 
ship, he  found  himself  flung  into  the  very 
center  of  the  sort  of  life  he  had  with  such 
pains  avoided.  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
he  was  not,  like  an  unskillful  swimmer,  igno- 
rant of  his  danger  ;  but  it  is  certain  that,  had 
he  been  able  to  search  out  his  own  heart  with 
his  former  acuteness  of  self-judgment,  he 
would  have  found  the  first  germs  of  inclina- 
tions and  feelings  to  which  he  had  been  up 
till  now  a  stranger.  He  would  have  discov- 
ered the  birth  of  a  new  longing  for  pleasure, 
a  growing  delight  in  the  sensuous  side  of 
things  ;  or  rather,  he  would  have  become  con- 
vinced that  temptations  of  this  sort,  which  had 
previously  been  in  the  main  creatures  of  his 
own  brain,  postulated  in  obedience  to  the  doc- 
trines and  literature  in  which  he  had  been 
bred,  had  become  self-assertive  realities  ;  and 
that  what  had  been  set  up  only  to  be  trium- 
phantly knocked  down  had  now  taken  a  strong 
root  of  its  own,  and  refused  to  be  displaced 
by  spiritual  exercises  or  physical  mortifica- 
tions. Had  he  been  able  to  pursue  the  anal- 
ysis yet  further,  it  may  be  that,  even  in  these 


CHANGES  OF  HA  BUS  AND  VIEIVS.        37 

days,  he  would  have  found  that  the  forces  of 
this  world  were  already  beginning  to  personify 
themselves  for  him  in  the  attractive  figure  of 
Claudia  Territon.  As  it  was,  however,  this 
discovery  was  yet  far  from  him. 

The  function  of  passing  a  moral  judgment 
on  Claudia's  conduct  at  this  juncture  is  one 
that  the  historian  respectfully  declines.  It  is 
easy  to  blame  fair  damsels  for  recklessness 
in  the  use  ot  their  dangerous  weapons  ;  and  if 
they  take  the  censure  to  heart — which  is  not 
usually  the  case — easy  again  to  charge  them 
with  self-consciousness  or  self-conceit.  We  do 
not  know  their  temptations  and  may  not 
presume  to  judge  them.  And  it  may  well  be 
thought  that  Claudia  would  have  been  guilty 
of  an  excessive  appreciation  of  herself  had  her 
conduct  been  influenced  by  the  thought  that 
such  a  man  as  Stafford  was  likely  to  fall  in 
love  with  her.  Of  the  conscious  design  of 
attracting  him  she  must  be  acquitted,  for  she 
acted  under  the  force  of  a  strong  attraction 
exercised  by  him.  Her  mind  was  not  entirely 
engrossed  in  the  pleasures,  and  what  she 
imagined  to  be  the  duties,  of  her  station.  She 
had  a  considerable,  if  untrained  and  erratic, 
instinct  toward  religion,  and  exhibited  that 
leaning  toward  the  mysterious  and  visionary 
which  is  the  common  mark  of  an  acute  mind 
that  has  not  been  presented  with  any  methodi- 
cal course  of  training  worthy  of  its  abilities. 
Such  a  temperament  could  not  fail  to  be 
powerfully  influenced  by  Stafford  ;  and  when 


-g  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

an  obvious  and  creditable  explanation  lies  on 
the  surface,  it  is  an  ungracious  task  to  probe 
deeper  in  the  hope  of  coming  to  something  less 
praiseworthy.  Claudia  herself  certainly  under- 
took no  such  research.  It  was  not  her  habit  to 
analyze  her  motives  ;  and,  if  asked  the  reasons 
of  her  conduct,  she  would  no  doubt  have  replied 
that  she  sought  Stafford  because  she  liked  him. 
Perhaps,  if  further  pressed,  she  would  have 
admitted  that  she  found  him  occasionally  a 
useful  refuge  against  attentions  from  two 
other  quarters  which  she  found  it  necessary  to 
avoid  ;  in  the  one  case  because  she  would 
have  liked  them,  in  the  other  for  exactly  the 
opposite  reason. 

It  cannot,  however,  be  supposed  that  this 
latter  line  of  diplomacy  could  be  permanently 
successful.  When  you  only  meet  your  suitor 
at  dances  or  operas,  it  may  be  no  hard  task  to 
be  always  surrounded  by  a  chevaux-de-frise 
of  other  admirers.  We  have  all  seen  that 
maneuver  brilliantly  and  patiently  executed. 
But  when  you  are  staying  at  a  country  house 
with  any  man  of  average  pertinacity,  I  make 
bold  to  say  that  nothing  short  of  taking  to  bed 
can  be  permanently  relied  upon.  If  this  is  the 
case  with  the  ordinary  man,  how  much  more 
does  it  hold  good  when  the  assailant  is  one 
like  Haddington — a  man  of  considerable  ad- 
dress, unbounded  persistence,  and  limitless 
complacency  ?  There  came  a  time  when 
Claudia's  forced  marches  failed  her,  and  she 
had  to  turn  and  give  battle.     When  the  mo- 


CHA  NGES  OF  HA  BI TS  A  ND  VIE  WS  ■,  g 

ment  came  she  was  prepared  with  an  audacious 
plan  of  campaign. 

She  had  walked  down  to  the  village  one 
morning,  attended  by  Haddington  and  pro- 
tected by  Bob,  to  buy  for  Mrs.  Lane  a  fresh 
supply  of  worsted  wool,  a  commodity  appar- 
ently necessary  to  sustain  that  lady's  life,  and 
was  returning  at  peace,  when  Bob  suddenly 
exclaimed  : 

"  By  Jove  !  Tobacco  !  Wait  for  me  !  " 
and,  turning,  fled  back  whence  he  came,  at 
full  speed. 

Claudia  made  an  attempt  at  following  him„ 
but  the  weather  was  hot  and  the  road  dusty, 
and,  confronted  with  the  alternative  of  a  tete- 
a-tete  and  a  damaged  personal  appearance, 
she  reluctantly  chose  the  former. 

Haddington  did  not  let  the  grass  grow 
under  his  feet.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  won't 
be  unpleasant  to  rest  a  little  while,  will  it? 
Here's  a  dry  bank." 

Claudia  never  wasted  time  in  dodging  the 
inevitable.     She  sat  down. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  this  opportunity,"  Had- 
dington began,  in  such  a  tone  as  a  mar 
might  use  if  he  had  just  succeeded  in  moving 
the  adjournment.  "  It's  curious  how  little  I 
have  managed  to  see  of  you  lately,  Lady 
Claudia." 

"  We  meet  at  least  five  times  a  day,  Mr. 
Haddington — breakfast,  lunch,  tea " 

"I  mean  when  you  are  alone." 

»  Oh  ! " 


.0  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  And  yet  you  must  know  my  great — my 
only  object  in  being  here  is  to  see  you." 

"  The  less  I  say  the  sooner  it  will  be  over," 
thought  Claudia,  whose  experience  was  con- 
siderable. 

"You  must  have  noticed  my — my  attach- 
ment.    I  hope  it  was  without  displeasure  ?  " 

This  clearly  called  for  an  answer,  but 
Claudia  gave  none.  She  sighed  slightly  and 
put  up  her  parasol. 

"  Claudia,  is  there  any  hope  for  me  ?  I  love 
you  more " 

"  Mr.  Haddington,"  said  Claudia,  "  this  is 
a  painful  scene.  I  trust  nothing  in  my  con- 
duct has  misled  you.  [This  was  known — 
how,  I  do  not  know — to  her  brothers  as 
"Claudia's  formula,"  but  it  is  believed  not  to 
be  uncommon.]  But  what  you  propose  is 
utterly  impossible." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  Perhaps  you  do 
not  know  me  well  enough  yet — but  in  time, 
surely  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Haddington,"  said  Claudia,  "  let  me 
speak  plainly.  Even  if  I  loved  you — which  I 
don't  and  never  shall,  for  immense  admiration 
for  a  man's  abilities  is  a  different  thing  from 
love  [Haddington  looked  somewhat  soothed], 
I  could  never  consent  to  accept  the  position  of 
a  pis-aller.  That  is  not  the  Territon  way." 
And  Lady  Claudia  looked  very  proud. 

"  A  pis-aller  !  What  in  the  world  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Girls  are  not  supposed  to  see  anything, 


CHANGES  OF  HABITS  AND  VIEWS.  *x 

But  do  you  think  I  imagine  you  would  ever 
have  honored  me  in  this  way  unless  a  greater 
prize  had  been — had  appeared  to  be  out  of 
reach  ? " 

This  was  not  fair  ;  but  it  was  near  enough 
to  the  mark  to  make  Haddington  a  little  un- 
easy. Had  Kate  been  free,  he  would  certainl) 
have  been  in  doubt. 

"  I  bear  no  malice  about  that,"  she  con- 
tinued, smiling,  "  only  you  mustn't  pretend  to 
be  broken-hearted,  you  know." 

"  It  is  a  great  blow  to  me — a  great  blow." 

Claudia  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to  say 
"  Fudge  ! "  but  restrained  herself  and,  with 
the  daring  characteristic  of  her,  placed  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Haddington.  How  it 
must  gall  you  to  see  their  happiness  !  I 
can  understand  you  turning  to  me  as  if  in 
self-protection.  But  you  should  not  ask  a 
lady  to  marry  you  because  you're  piqued 
with  another  lady.  It  isn't  kind  ;  it  isn't, 
indeed." 

Haddington  was  a  little  at  loss. 

"  Indeed,  you're  wholly  wrong.  Lady 
Claudia.  Indeed,  if  you  come  to  that,  I  don't 
see  that  they  are  particularly  rapturous." 

"  You  don't  mean  you  think  they're  un- 
happy ?     Mr.  Haddington,  I  am  so  grieved  !" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  agree  with 
me  ?" 

"  You  mustn't  ask  me.  But,  oh  !  I'm  so 
sorry  you  think  so  too.     Isn't  it  strange  ?     So 


.  „  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

suited  to  one  another — she  so  beautiful,  he  so 
clever,  and  both  rich  !  " 

"  Miss  Bernard  is  hardly  rich,  is  she  ?" 

««  Not  as  Mr.  Lane  is,  of  course.  She  seems 
rich  to  me — forty  thousand  pounds,  I  think. 
Ah,  Mr.  Haddington,  if  only  you  had  met  her 
sooner ! " 

»  I  shouldn't  have  had  much  chance  against 
Lane." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  If  you  only 
knew " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  mustn't  tell  you.  How  sad  that  it's  too 
late  ! " 

"  Is  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     They're  engaged!  " 

"An  engagement  isn't  a  marriage.  If  I 
thought " 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"But  I  can't  think  of  that  now.  Good-by, 
Claudia.     We  may  not  meet  again." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  go  away  ?  You  mustn't  let 
me  drive  you  away.  Oh,  please,  Mr.  Had- 
dington !  Think,  if  you  go,  it  must  all  come 
out !     I  should  be  so  very,  very  distressed." 

"If  you  ask  me,  I  will  try  to  stay." 

"  Yes,  yes,  stay — but  forget  all  this.  And 
never  think  again  of  the  other— about  them,  I 
mean.     You  will  stay  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  stay,"  said  Haddington. 

"  Unless  it  makes  you  too  unhappy  to  see 
Eugene's  triumph  in  Kate's  love  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  much    in  that.      If  that's 


CHANGES  OF  HABITS  AND  VIEWS.  .? 

the  only  thing — but  I  must  go.  I  see  your 
brother  coming  up  the  hill." 

"  Yes,  go  ;  and  I'll  never  tell  that  you  tried 
me  as — as  a  second  string  !  " 

"  That's  very  unjust !  "  he  protested,  but 
more  weakly. 

"  No,  it  isn't.  I  know  your  heart,  and  I  do 
pity  you." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  not  ask  for  pity,  Lady 
Claudia  !  " 

••  Oh,  you  mustn't  think  of  that !  " 

"  It  was  you  who  put  it  in  my  head." 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done  !  " 

Haddington  smiled,  and  with  a  last  squeeze 
of  her  hand  turned  and  walked  away. 

Claudia  put  her  handkerchief  into  her 
pocket  and  went  to  meet  her  brother. 

Haddington  returned  alone  to  the  house. 
Although  suffering  under  a  natural  feeling 
of  annoyance  at  discovering  that  he  was  not 
foremost  in  Claudia's  heart,  as  he  had  led  him- 
self to  suppose,  he  was  yet  keenly  alive  to  the 
fact  that  the  interview  had  its  consolatory 
aspect.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  a  fiction 
that  a  lady  who  respects  herself  does  not  fall 
in  love  with  a  man  whom  she  suspects  to  be 
in  love  with  somebody  else  ;  and  Hadding- 
ton's mind,  though  of  no  mean  order  in  some 
ways,  was  not  of  a  sort  to  rise  above  fictions. 
He  comforted  his  vanity  with  the  thought  that 
Claudia  had,  by  a  conscious  effort,  checked  a 
nascent  affection  for  him,  which,  if  allowed 
unimpeded  growth,  would  have  developed  into 


44 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


a  passion.  Again,  that  astute  young  lady  had 
very  accurately  conjectured  his  state  of  mind, 
while  her  pledge  of  secrecy  disposed  of  the 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  a  too  rapid  transfer  of 
his  attentions.  If  Claudia  did  not  complain, 
nay,  counseled  such  action,  who  had  a  right 
to  object  ?  It  was  true  she  had  eagerly  dis- 
claimed any  intention  of  inciting  him  to  try  to 
break  the  ties  that  now  bound  Miss  Bernard. 
But,  he  reflected,  the  important  point  was  not 
the  view  she  took  of  the  morality  of  such  an 
attempt,  on  which  her  authority  was  nought, 
but  her  opinion  of  its  chances  ofsuccess,  which 
was  obviously  not  wholly  unfavorable.  He 
did  not  trouble  himself  to  inquire  closely  into 
any  personal  motive  she  may  have  had.  It 
was  enough  for  him  that  she,  a  person  likely 
to  be  well  inlormed,  had  allowed  him  to  see 
that,  to  her  thinking,  the  relations  between  the 
engaged  pair  were  of  a  character  to  inspire  in 
the  mind  of  another  aspirant  hope  rather  than 
despair. 

Having  reached  this  conclusion,  Hadding- 
ton recognized  that  his  first  step  must  be  to 
put  Miss  Bernard  in  touch  with  the  position  of 
affairs.  It  may  seem  a  delicate  matter  to  hint 
to  your  host's  fiancee  that  if  she,  on  mature 
reflection,  likes  you  better  than  him,  there  is 
still  time  ;  but  Haddington  was  not  afflicted 
with  delicacy.  After  all,  in  such  a  case  a 
great  deal  depends  upon  the  lady,  and  Had- 
dington, though  doubtful  how  Kate  would 
regard  a  direct  proposal  to  break  off  her  en- 


CHANGES  OF  HABITS  AND  VIEWS.  .* 

gagement,  was  yet  tolerably  confident  that  she 
would  not  betray  him  to  Eugene. 

He  found  her  seated  on  the  terrace  that 
was  the  usual  haunt  of  the  ladies  in  the  fore- 
noon and  the  scene  of  Eugene's  dutiful  labors 
as  reader-aloud.  Kate  was  not  looking  amia- 
ble ;  and  scarce  six  feet  from  her  there  lay  open 
on  the  ground  a  copy  of  the  Laureate's  works. 

"  I  hope  I'm  not  disturbing  you,  Miss 
Bernard  ?  " 

"Oh,  no.  You  see,  I  am  alone.  Mr.  Lane 
was  here  just  now,  but  he's  gone." 

"  How's  that  ?"  asked  Haddington,  seating 
himself. 

"  He  got  a  telegram,  read  it,  flung  his  book 
away,  and  rushed  off." 

"  Did  he  say  what  it  was  about  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  didn't  ask  him." 

A  pause  ensued.  It  was  a  little  difficult  to 
make  a  start. 

"  And  so  you  are  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  you  see." 

"  I  am  alone  too.  Shall  we  console  one 
another  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  consolation,  thanks,"  said 
Kate,  a  little  ungraciously.  "But,"  she 
added  more  kindly,  "  you  know  I'm  always 
glad  of  your  company." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so." 

"  Why  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Bernard,  engaged  people  are 
generally  rather  indifferent  to  the  rest  of  the 
world. 


46  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

•'  Even  to  telegrams  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  poor  Lane  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Lane  is  in  much  need 
of  pity." 

"  No — rather  of  envy." 

Kate  did  not  look  displeased. 

"Still,  a  man  is  to  be  pitied  if  he  does  not 
appreciate " 

"  Mr.  Haddington  !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  ought  not  to  have 
said  that.  But  it  is  hard — there,  I  am  offend- 
ing you  again  ! " 

"Yes,  you  must  not  talk  like  that.  It's 
wrong  ;  it  would  be  wrong  even  if  you  meant 
it." 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  mean  it  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  very  discreditable — but 
not  so  bad." 

"  You  know  I  mean  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  *'  God  knows  I  would  have  said  nothing 
if " 

"  If  what?  " 

*'  I  shall  offend  you  more  than  ever.  But 
how  can  I  stand  by  and  see  that?  "  and  Had- 
dington pointed  with  fine  scorn  to  the  neg- 
lected book. 

Kate  was  not  agitated.  She  seldom  was. 
In  a  tone  of  grave  rebuke,  she  said  : 

"  You  must  never  speak  like  this  again.  I 
thought  I  saw  something  of  it.  ["  Good  !  " 
thought  Haddington.]  But  whatever  may  be 
my  lot,  I  am  now  bound  to  it.  Pledges  are 
not  to  be  broken." 


CHANGES  OF  HABITS  AND   VIEWS.  .* 

"  Are  they  not  being  virtually  broken  ?  "  he 
asked,  growing  bolder  as  he  saw  she  listened 
to  him. 

Kate  rose. 

"  You  are  not  angry  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  be  angry  if  it  is  as  you  say. 
But  please  understand  I  cannot  listen.  It  is 
not  honorable.  No — don't  say  anything  else. 
But  you  must  go  away." 

Haddington  made  no  further  effort  to  stop 
her.  He  was  well  content.  When  a  lady 
hears  you  hint  that  her  betrothed  is  less  devot- 
ed than  you  would  be  in  his  place,  and  merely 
says  the  giving  of  such  a  hint  is  wrong,  it  may 
be  taken  that  her  sole  objection  to  it  is  on  the 
score  of  morality  ;  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
objections  based  on  this  ground  are  not  the 
most  efficacious  in  checking  forward  lovers. 
Perhaps  Miss  Bernard  thought  they  were. 
Haddington  didn't  believe  she  did. 

"Go  away  ?  "  he  said  to  himself.  "Hardly  ! 
The  play  is  just  beginning.  Little  Lady 
Claudia  wasn't  far  out." 

It  is  very  possible  she  was  not  far  out  in 
her  estimation  of  Mr.  Haddington's  character, 
as  well  as  in  her  forecast  of  his  prospects. 
But  the  fruits  of  her  shrewdness  on  this  point 
were  happily  hid  from  the  gentleman  con- 
cerned. 


48 


FATHER  STAFFORE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Sir  "Roderick  B^re  "ffnspects  /nbr.  dBore* 

wooo'5  jfllbasterpiece. 

BOUT  a  fortnight  later  than  the  last 
recorded  incident  two  men  were 
smoking  on  the  lawn  at  Millstead 
Manor.  One  was  Morewood  ;  the 
other  had  arrived  only  the  day  before  and 
was  the  Sir  Roderick  Ayre  to  whom  reference 
has  been  made. 

"Upon  my  word,  Morewood,"  said  Sir 
Roderick,  as  the  painter  sat  down  by  him, 
«'  one  can't  go  anywhere  without  meeting 
you  !  " 

"  That's  since  you  took  to  intellectual  com- 
pany," said  Morewood,  grinning. 

"  I  haven't  taken  to  intellectual  company," 
said  Sir  Roderick,  with  languid  indignation. 
"  In  the  general  upheaval,  intellectual  com- 
pany has  risen  in  the  scale." 

"  And  so  has  at  last  come  up  to  your  pin- 
nacle ?  " 

"  And  so  has  reached  me,  where  I  have 
been  for  centuries." 

"  A  sort  of  perpetual  dove  on  Ararat  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Morewood,  I  am  told  you  know 
everything    except    the  Bible.     Why    choose 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  MASTERPIECE.  ,g 

your    allusions     from     the     one    unfamiliar 
source  ?  " 

"  And  how  do  you  like  your  new  neigh- 
bor ?  " 

"  What  new  neighbor  ?  " 

"Intellect." 

"  Oh  !  well,  as  personified  in  you  it's  a  not 
unwholesome  astringent.  But  we  may  take 
an  overdose." 

"  Depends  on  the  capacity  of  the  consti- 
tution, of  course,"  said  Morewood. 

"One  objectionable  quality  it  has,"  pursued 
Sir  Roderick,  apparently  unheedful. 

"Yes?" 

"  A  disposition  toward  what  boys  call 
•scoring.'  That  will,  no  doubt,  be  eradicated 
as  it  rises  more  in  society.  Apropos,  what 
are  you  doing  down  here  ?" 

"As  an  artist,  I  study  your  insolence  pro- 
fessionally, Ayre,  and  it  doesn't  annoy  me.  I 
came  down  here  to  do  nothing.  I  have  stayed 
to  paint  Stafford." 

"  Ah  !  is  Stafford  then  a  professional 
saint  ?  " 

"  He's  an  uncommon  fine  fellow.  You're 
not  fit  to  black  his  boots." 

"  I  am  not  fit  to  black  anybody's  boots,"  re- 
sponded Sir  Roderick.  "  It's  the  other  way. 
What's  he  doing  down  here  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  Says  he's  writing  a  book. 
Do  you  know  Lady  Claudia  well  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Known  her  since  she  was  a  child." 

"She  seems  uncommonly  appreciative." 
4 


C  0  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

"  Of  Stafford  ?  " 

»  Yes." 

"  Oh,  well !  it's  her  way.  It  always  has 
been  the  way  of  the  Territons.  They  only 
began,  you  know,  about  three  hundred  years 
ago,  and  ever  since " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  their  history — a  lot  of 
scoundrels,  no  doubt,  like  all  your  old  families. 
Only — I  say,  Ayre,  I  should  like  to  show  you 
a  head  of  Stafford  I've  done." 

"  I  won't  buy  it !  "  said  Sir  Roderick,  with 
affected  trepidation. 

"  You  be  damned  !  "  said  Morewood.  "  But 
I  should  like  to  hear  what  you  think  of  it." 

"What  do  he  and  the  rest  of  them  think  ?" 

"  I  haven't  shown  it  to  any  one." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  you've  seen  it." 

" I  should  think  Stafford  would  make  rather 
a  good  head.     He's  got  just  that " 

"  Hush  !     Here  he  comes  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  Stafford  and  Claudia  came  up 
the  drive  and  emerged  on  to  the  lawn.  They 
did  not  see  the  others  and  appeared  to  be 
deep  in  conversation.  Stafford  was  talking 
vehemently  and  Claudia  listening  with  a  look 
of  amused  mutiny  on  her  face. 

•«  He's  sworn  off,  hasn't  he  ?  "  asked  Ayre. 

"Yes." 

"  She  doesn't  care  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so  ;  but  a  man  can't  tell." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Ayre.  "  What's  Eugene 
up  to  ?  - 


MR.  MO  RE  WOOD'S  MASTERPIECE.  ^ 

"Oh,  you  know  he's  booked." 

"  Kate  Bernard  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Tell  you  what,  Morewood,  I'll  lay 
you " 

"  No,  you  won't.  Come  and  see  the  picture. 
It's  the  finest  thing — in  its  way — I  ever  did." 

"  Going  to  exhibit  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  work  up  and  exhibit  another 
I've  done  of  him,  not  this  one  ;  at  least,  I'm 
afraid  he  won't  stand  this  one." 

"Gad  !  Have  you  painted  him  with  horns 
and  a  tail  ?  " 

Whereto  Morewood  answered  only  : 

"  Come  and  see." 

As  they  went  in,  they  met  Eugene,  hands 
in  pockets  and  pipe  in  mouth,  looking  im- 
mensely bored. 

"  Dr.  Livingstone,  I  presume  ? "  said  he- 
"  Excuse  the  mode  of  address,  but  I've  not 
seen  a  soul  all  the  morning,  and  thought  I 
must  have  dropped  down  somewhere  in  Africa. 
It's  monstrous  !  I  ask  about  ten  people  to 
my  house,  and  I  never  have  a  soul  to  speak 
to  !  " 

"  Where's  Miss  Bernard  ?  "  asked  Ayre. 

"  Kate  is  learning  constitutional  principles 
from  Haddington  in  the  shrubbery.  Lady 
Claudia  is  learning  sacerdotal  principles  from 
Stafford  in  the  shrubbery.  My  mother  is 
learning  equine  principles  from  Bob  Territon 
in  the  stables.  You  are  learning  immoral 
principles    from   Morewood   on  the   lawn.     I 


C2  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

don't  complain,  but  is  there  anything-  a  man 
can  do  ? " 

"Yes,  there's  a  picture  to  be  seen — More- 
wood's  latest." 

"  Good  ! " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  show  it  to  Lane." 

'*  Oh,  get  out  !  "  said  Eugene.  "  I  shall 
summon  the  servants  to  my  aid.  Who's  it  of  ?  " 

"Stafford,"  said  Ayre. 

"  The  Pope  in  full  canonicals  ?  " 

"  All  right,  Lane.  But  you're  a  friend  of 
his,  and  you  mayn't    like  it." 

They  entered  the  billiard-room,  a  long  build- 
ing that  ran  out  from  the  west  wing  of  the 
house.  In  the  extreme  end  of  it  Morewood 
had  extemporized  a  studio,  attracted  by  the 
good  light. 

"  Give  me  a  good  top-light,"  he  had  said, 
"and  I  wouldn't  change  places  with  an  arch- 
angel !  " 

"  Your  lights,  top  or  otherwise,  are  not 
such,"  Eugene  remarked,  "  as  to  make  it  likely 
the  berth  will  be  offered  you." 

"  This  picture  is,  I  understand,  Eugene,  a 
stunner.  Give  us  chairs  and  some  brandy  and 
soda  and  trot  it  out,"  said  Ayre. 

Morewood  was  unmoved  by  their  frivolity. 
He  tugged  at  his  ragged  red  beard  for  a 
moment  or  two  while  they  were  settling  them- 
selves. 

"  I'll  show  you  this  first,"  he  said,  taking 
up  one  of  the  canvases  that  leant  against  the 
wall. 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  MASTERPIECE.  *■> 

It  was  a  beautiful  sketch  of  a  half-length 
figure,  and  represented  Stafford  in  the  garb  of 
a  monk,  gazing  up  with  eager  eyes,  full  of  the 
vision  of  the  Eternal  City  beyond  the  skies. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  devotee  and  a  visionary, 
and  yet  it  was  full  of  strength  and  resolution  ; 
and  there  was  in  it  the  look  of  a  man  who  had 
put  aside  all  except  the  service  and  the  con- 
templation of  the  Divine. 

Ayre  forgot  to  sneer,  and  Eugene  mur- 
mured : 

"Glorious!  What  a  subject!  And,  old 
fellow,  what  an  artist  !  " 

"That  is  good,"  said  Morewood  quietly. 
"  It's  fine,  but  as  a  matter  of  painting  the 
other  is  still  better.  I  caught  him  looking  like 
that  one  morning.  He  came  out  before  break- 
fast, very  early,  into  the  garden.  I  was  out 
there,  but  he  didn't  see  me,  and  he  stood  look- 
ing up  like  that  for  ever  so  long,  his  lips  just 
parted  and  his  eyes  straining  through  the  veil,, 
as  you  see  that.  It  may  be  all  nonsense,  but 
— fine,  isn't  it  ?  " 

The  two  men  nodded. 

"  Now  for  the  other,"  said  Ayre.  "  By 
Jove  !  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  in  church." 

"  The  other  I  got  only  three  or  four  days 
ago.  Again  I  was  a  Paul  Pry, — we  have  to 
be,  you  know,  if  we're  to  do  anything  worth 
doing, — and  I  took  him  while  he  sat.  But  I 
dare  say  you'd  better  see  it  first." 

He  took  another  and  smaller  picture  and 
placed    it    on    the    easel,  standing  for    a  mo- 


P  .  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

54 

merit  between  it  and  the  onlookers  and  study- 
ing it  closely.  Then  he  stepped  aside  in 
silence. 

It  was  merely  a  head — nothing  more — 
standing  out  boldly  from  a  dark  background. 
The  face  was  again  Stafford's,  but  the  present- 
ment differed  strangely.  It  was  still  beautiful; 
it  had  even  a  beauty  the  other  had  not,  the 
beauty  of  youth  and  passion.  The  devotee 
was  gone  ;  in  his  place  was  a  face  that,  in 
spite  of  the  ascetic  cast  of  feature,  was  so 
lighted  up  with  the  fire  of  love  and  longing 
that  it  might  have  stood  for  a  Leander  or  a 
Romeo.  It  expressed  an  eager  yearning,  that 
made  it  seem  to  be  craning  out  of  the  picture 
in  the  effort  to  reach  that  unknown  object  on 
which  the  eyes  were  fixed  with  such  devouring 
passion. 

The  men  sat  looking  at  it  in  amazement. 
Eugene  was  half  angry,  half  alarmed.  Ayre 
was  closely  studying  the  picture,  his  old  look 
of  cynical  amusement  struggling  with  a  sur- 
prise which  it  was  against  his  profession  to 
admit.  They  forgot  to  praise  the  picture  ; 
but  Morewood  was  well  content  with  their 
tacit  homage. 

"  The  finest  thing  I  ever  did — on  my  life  ; 
one  of  the  finest  things  any  one  ever  did,"  he 
murmured  ;   "  and  I  can't  show  it  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Eugene. 

Ayre  rose  and  took  his  stand  before  the 
picture.  Then  he  got  a  chair,  choosing  the 
lowest  he  could   find,  and  sat  down,  sitting 


MR.  MO  RE  WOOD'S  MASTERPIECE.  ^ 

well  back.  This  attitude  brought  him  ex- 
actly under  the  gaze  of  the  eyes. 

"  Is  it  your  diabolic  fancy,"  he  said,  "  or 
did  you  honestly  copy  it  ?  " 

"  I  never  struck  closer  to  what  I  saw,"  the 
painter  replied.  "It's  not  my  doing;  he 
looked  like  that." 

"  Then  who  was  sitting,  as  it  were,  where  I 
am  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Morewood.  "  I  thought  you 
couldn't  miss  it." 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  asked  Eugene,  in  an  ex- 
cited way. 

The  others  looked  keenly  at  him  for  a 
moment. 

"You  know,"  said  Morewood.  "Claudia 
Territon.  She  was  sitting  there  reading.  He 
had  a  book,  too,  but  had  laid  it  down  on  his 
knee.  She  sat  reading,  and  he  looking.  In 
a  moment  I  caught  the  look.  Then  she  put 
down  the  book  ;  and  as  she  turned  to  him  to 
speak,  in  a  second  it  was  gone,  and  he  was 
not  this  picture  nor  the  other,  but  as  we  know 
him  every  day." 

"  She  didn't  see  ?  "  asked  Eugene. 

"No." 

"Thank  God  !"  he  cried.  Then  in  a  mo- 
ment, recollecting  himself,  he  looked  at  the  two 
men,  and  saw  what  he  had  done.  They  tried 
to  look  as  if  they  noticed  nothing. 

"You  must  destroy  that  thing,  Morewood," 
said  he. 

Morewood 's  face  was  a  study. 


e5  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  I  would  as  soon,"  he  said  deliberately, 
"  cut  off  my  right  hand." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  pounds  for  it," 
said  Eugene. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Burn  it." 

*•  Then  you  shouldn't  have  it  for  ten  thou- 
sand." 

"  I  thought  you'd  say  that.  But  he  mustn't 
see  it." 

"Why,  Lane,  you're  as  bad  as  a  child.  It's 
a  man  in  love,  that's  all." 

"  If  he  saw  it,"  said  Eugene,  "  he'd  hang 
himself." 

"  Oh,  gently  !  "  said  Ayre.  "Ifyouaskme, 
I  expect  Stafford  will  pretty  soon  get  beyond 
any  surprise  at  the  revelation.  He  must  walk 
his  path,  like  all  of  us.  It  can't  matter  to 
you,  you  know,"  he  added,  with  a  sharp 
glance. 

"  No,  it  can't  matter  to  me,"  said  Eugene 
steadily. 

"  Put  it  away,  Morewood,  and  come  out  of 
doors.  Perhaps  you'd  better  not  leave  it 
about,  at  present  at  any  rate." 

Morewood  took  down  the  picture  and 
placed  it  in  a  large  portfolio,  which  he  locked, 
and  accompanied  Ayre.  Eugene  made  no 
motion  to  come  with  them,  and  they  left  him 
sitting  there. 

"  The  atmosphere,"  said  Sir  Roderick,  look- 
ing up  into  the  clear  summer  sky,  "  is  getting 
thundery    and    complicated.     I    hate   compli- 


JtzjV.  Mr  RE  WOOD'S  MASTERPIECE.  ry 

cations  !     They're    a   bore  !     I   think  I    shall 

go-" 

"  I  shan't.     It  will  be  interesting." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right.  I'll  stay  a  little 
while." 

"  Ah  !  here  you  are.  I've  been  looking 
for  somebody  to  amuse  me." 

The  speaker  was  Claudia,  looking  very 
fresh  and  cool  in  her  soft  white  dress. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  Pope  ?  " 
asked  Ayre. 

"  He  gave  me  to  understand  he  had  wasted 
enough  time  on  me,  and  went  in  to  write." 

"  I  should  think  he  was  right,"  said  Sir 
Roderick. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Claudia  carelessly. 

Her  conscience  was  evidently  quite  at  ease  ; 
but  they  did  not  know  whether  this  meant  that 
her  actions  had  deserved  no  blame.  How- 
ever, they  were  neither  of  them  men  to  judge 
such  a  case  as  hers  harshly. 

"  If  I  were  fifteen  years  younger,"  said 
Ayre,  "  I  would  waste  all  my  time  on  you." 

"  Why,  you're  only  about  forty,"  said 
Claudia.      "  That's  not  too  old." 

"  Good  !  "  said  he,  smiling.  "  Life  in  the 
old  dog  yet,  eh  ?  But  go  in  and  see  Lane. 
He's  in  the  billiard-room,  thinking  over  his 
sins  and  getting  low-spirited." 

*'  And  I  shall  be  a  change  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Perhaps  he's  a 
homceopathist." 

"  I  hate  you  !  "  said  Claudia,  with  a  very 


rg  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

kind  glance,  as  she  pursued  her  way  in  the 
direction  indicated. 

"  She  means  no  harm,"  said  Morewood. 

"  But  she  may  do  the  devil  of  a  lot.  We 
can't  help  it,  can  we  ?  " 

"No — not  our  business  if  we  could,"  said 
Morewood. 

Claudia  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door. 
Eugene  was  still  sitting  with  his  head  on  his 
hand. 

"It's  very  odd,"  thought  she.  "What's 
he  looking  at  the  easel  for  ?  There's  nothing 
on  it  ! " 

Then  she  began  to  sing.  Eugene  looked 
up. 

"  Is  it  you,  Lady  Claudia  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Why  are  you  moping  here  ?  " 

««  Where's  Stafford  ?  " 

««  Everybody,"  said  Claudia  impatiently, 
throwing  her  hat,  and  herself  after  it,  on  a 
lounge,  "  asks  me  where  Father  Stafford  is. 
I  don't  know,  Mr.  Lane  ;  and  what's  more, 
at  this  moment  I  don't  care.  Have  you  noth- 
ing better  than  that  to  say  to  me  when  I  come 
to  look  for  you  ?  " 

Eugene  pulled  himself  together.  Tragedy 
airs  would  be  insufferable. 

"  True,  most  beauteous  damsel  !  "  he  said. 
"  I  am  remiss.  For  the  purposes  of  the  mo- 
ment, hang  Stafford  !     What  shall  we  do  ? " 

She  got  up  and  came  close  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Lane,"  she  whispered,  "  what  do 
you  think  there  is  in  the  stable  ?  " 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  MA  S TERPIECE.  r« 

"  I  know  what  there  isn't  :  that's  a  horse 
fit  to  ride." 

■•  A  libel  !  a  libel  !  But  there  is  [in  a  still 
lower  whisper]  a  sociable" 

•'  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  sociable." 

"  Do  you  mean  a  tricycle  ?  " 

"  Yes — for  two." 

"Oho  !  "  said  Eugene,  gently  chuckling. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  ?  " 

"  On  the  road  ?  " 

>•  N — no,    perhaps   not  ;    round  the    park." 

"  Hush  !  S'death  !  if  Kate  saw  us  !  Where 
is  she  ?  " 

"  I  saw  her  last  with  Mr.  Haddington." 

"  In  the  scheme  of  creation  everything  has 
its  use,"  replied  Eugene  tranquilly.  "  Had- 
dington supplies  a  felt  want." 

"  Be  quiet.     But  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  come  along.     Be  swift  and  silent." 

"  I  must  go  and  put  on  an  old  frock." 

«'  All  right ;  be  quick." 

"  What  is  the  use  ?  "  Eugene  pondered  ; 
"I  can't  have  her,  and  Stafford  may  as  well — 
if  he  will.  Will  he,  I  wonder?  And  would 
she  ?  Oh,  Lord  !  what  a  nuisance  they  are  ! 
By  Jove  !  I  should  like  to  see  Kate's  face  if 
she  spots  us." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  strange  and  unedi- 
fying  sight  of  Lady  Claudia  Territon  and 
Mr.  Lane,  mounted  on  a  very  rickety  old 
»'  sociable,"  presented  itself  to  the  gaping 
gaze  of  several  laborers  in  the  park.     Claudia 


(5o  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

was  in  her  most  boisterous  spirits  ;  Eugene, 
by  one  ot  the  quick  transitions  of  his  nature, 
was  hardly  less  elate.  Up-hill  they  toiled  and 
down-hill  they  raced,  getting,  as  the  manner  of 
"  cyclists "  is,  very  warm  and  rather  oily. 
But  retribution  lagged  not.  Down  a  steep 
hill  they  came,  round  a  sharp  turn  they  went, 
and,  alas,  over  into  a  ditch  they  fell.  This 
was  bad  enough,  but  in  the  calm  seclusion  of 
a  garden  seat,  perched  on  a  knoll  just  above 
them,  the  sinners,  as  they  rose,  dirty  but  un- 
hurt, beheld  Miss  Bernard  !  For  a  moment 
all  was  consternation.  What  would  she 
say  ? 

It  was  a  curious  thing,  but  Kate  seemed 
as  embarrassed  as  themselves,  and  she  said 
nothing  except : 

"Oh,  I  hope  you're  n^t  hurt!"  and  said 
this  in  a  hasty  way  and  with  ostentatious 
amiability. 

Eugene  was  surprised.  But  as  his  eyes 
wandered,  they  fell  on  Haddington,  and  that 
rising  politician  held  awkwardly  in  his  hand, 
and  was  trying  to  convey  behind  his  back, 
what  looked  very  like  a  lady's  glove.  Now 
Miss  Bernard  had  only  one  glove  on. 

"The  battery  is  spiked,"  he  whispered 
triumphantly.      "  Come  along,  Lady  Claudia.' 

Claudia  hadn't  seen  what  Eugene  had,  but 
she  obeyed,  and  off  they  went  again,  airily 
waving  their  hands. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  she  asked. 

Eugene  was  struggling  with  laughter. 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  MASTERPIECE.  gj- 

«<  Didn't  you  see  ?  Haddington  had  her 
glove  !     Splendid  !  " 

Claudia,  regardless  of  safety,  turned  for  an 
instant,  a  flushed,  smiling  face  to  him.  He 
was  about  to  speak,  but  she  turned  away 
again,  exclaiming : 

•*  Quick !  I've  promised  to  meet  Father 
Stafford  at  twelve,  and  I  mustn't  keep  him 
waiting.     I   wouldn't  miss  it  for  the  world  ! " 

Eugene  was  checked  ;  Claudia  saw  it. 
What  she  thought  is  not  revealed,  but  they 
returned  home  in  somewhat  gloomy  silence. 
And  it  is  a  comfort  to  the  narrator,  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  to  the  reader,  to  think  that  Mr. 
Eugene  Lane  got  something  besides  pleasure 
out  of  his  discreditable  performance  and  his 
lamentable  want  of  proper  feeling. 


62  FATHER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER  V. 

1bow  tbree  ©entlemen  Scteo  for  tbe  36eet. 


pP'^PilH  E  schemers  schemed  and  the  waiters 
||Hl  upon  events  waited  with  consider- 
jyBJ^Il:  able  patience,  but  although  the  days 
wore  on,  the  situation  showed  little 
signs  of  speedy  development.  Matters  were 
in  fact  in  a  rather  puzzling  position.  The 
friendship  and  intimacy  between  Claudia  and 
Stafford  continued  to  increase.  Eugene, 
whether  in  penitence  or  in  pique,  had  turned 
with  renewed  zeal  to  his  proper  duties,  and  was 
no  longer  content  to  allow  Kate  to  be  monopo- 
lized by  Haddington.  The  latter's  attentions 
had  indeed  been  in  danger  of  becoming  too 
marked,  and  it  is,  perhaps,  not  uncharitable  to 
attribute  Kate's  apparent  avoidance  of  them 
as  much  to  considerations  of  expediency  as  of 
principle.  At  the  same  time,  there  was  no 
coolness  between  Eugene  and  Haddington, 
and  when  his  guest  presented  a  valid  excuse 
and  proposed  departure,  Eugene  met  the  sug- 
gestion with  an  obviously  sincere  opposition. 
Sir  Roderick  really  could  not  make  out  what 
was  going  on.  Now  Sir  Roderick  disliked 
being  puzzled  ;  it  conv  eyed  a  reflectionon  his 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST,    g^ 

acuteness,  and  he  therefore  was  a  sharer  in 
the  perturbation  of  mind  that  evidently  afflicted 
some  of  his  companions,  in  spite  of  their 
decorous  behavior.  But  contentment  was  not 
wanting  in  some  hearts.  Morewood  was 
happy  in  the  pursuit  of  his  art  and  in  argu- 
ments with  Stafford  ;  and  Bob  Territon  had 
found  refuge  in  an  energetic  attempt  to  organ- 
ize and  train  a  Manor  team  to  do  battle  with 
the  village  cricket  club,  headed  as  it  had  been 
for  thirty  years'  past  by  the  Rector.  More- 
over, Stafford  himself  still  seemed  tranquil. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  for  most  men  to 
fail  to  understand  their  true  position  in  such  a 
case  more  fully  than  he,  in  spite  of  his  usual 
penetration  of  vision,  had  succeeded  in  doing. 
But  he  was  now  in  a  strange  country,  and  the 
landmarks  of  feeling  whereby  the  experienced 
traveler  on  such  paths  can  learn  and  note, 
even  if  he  cannot  check,  his  descent,  were  to 
Stafford  unmeaning  and  empty  of  warning. 
Of  course,  he  knew  he  liked  Claudia's 
society  ;  he  found  her  talk  at  once  a  change,  a 
rest,  and  a  stimulus  ;  he  had  even  become 
aware  that  of  all  the  people  at  the  Manor,  ex- 
cept his  old  friend  and  host,  she  had  for  him 
the  most  interest  and  attraction  ;  perhaps  he 
had  even  suffered  at  times  that  sense  of  va- 
cancy of  all  the  chairs  when  her  chair  was  va- 
cant that  should  have  told  him  of  his  state  if 
anything  would.  But  he  did  not  see  ;  he  was 
blind  in  this  matter,  even  as,  say,  Ayre  or 
Morewood  would  have  proved  blind  if  called 


g.  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

upon  to  study  and  describe  the  mental  pro- 
cess of  a  religious  conversation.  He  was  yet 
far  from  realizing  that  an  influence  had  en- 
tered his  life  in  force  strong  enough  to 
contend  with  that  which  had  so  long  ruled 
him  with  undivided  sway.  It  was  the  part  of 
a  friend  to  hope  and  try  that  he  might  go 
with  his  own  heart  yet  a  secret  to  him.  So 
hoped  Eugene.  But  Eugene,  unnerved  by 
self-suspicion,  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  hasten 
his  friend's  departure,  lest  he  should  seem  to 
himself,  or  be  without  perceiving  it  even  him- 
self, alert  to  save  his  friend,  only  because  his 
friend's  salvation  would  be  to  his  own  com- 
fort. 

Sir  Roderick  Ayre,  however,  was  not  re- 
strained by  Eugene's  scruples  nor  inspired 
by  Eugene's  devotion  to  Stafford.  Stafford 
interested  him,  but  he  was  not  his  friend,  and 
Ayre  did  not  understand,  or,  if  truth  be  told, 
appreciate  the  almost  reverential  attitude 
which  Eugene,  usually  so  very  devoid  of  rev- 
erence, adopted  toward  him.  Ayre  thought 
Stafford's  vow  nonsense,  and  that  if  he  was  in 
love  with  Claudia  Territon  there  was  no  harm 
done. 

"  Many  people  have  been,"  he  said,  "  and 
many  will  be,  before  the  little  witch  grows 
old  and — no,  by  Jove  !  she'll  never  grow 
ugly  !  " 

Trivial  as  the  matter  seemed,  looked  at  in 
this  light,  it  had  yet  enough  of  human  interest 
about  it  to  decide   him  to  leave  the  grouse 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST.     65 

alone,  and  wait  patiently  for  the  partridges  at 
Millstead.  After  all,  he  had  shot  grouse  and 
most  other  things  for  thirty  years  ;  and,  as  he 
said,  "The  parson  was  a  change,  and  the 
house  deuced  comfortable,  and  old  Eugene  a 
good  fellow." 

Now  it  came  to  pass  one  day  that  the  devil, 
having  a  spare  hour  on  his  hands,  and  re- 
membering that  he  had  often  met  with  a 
hospitable  reception  from  Sir  Roderick,  to  say 
nothing  of  having  a  bowing  acquaintance  with 
Morewood,  looked  in  at  the  Manor,  and  find- 
ing his  old  quarters  at  Sir  Roderick's  swept  and 
garnished,  incontinently  took  up  his  abode 
there,  and  proceeded  to  look  round  for  some 
suitable  occupation.  When  this  momentous 
but  invisible  event  accomplished  itself,  Sir 
Roderick  was  outwardly  engaged  in  the  inno- 
cent and  aimless  pursuit  of  knocking  the 
billiard  balls  about  and  listening  absently  to  a 
discourse  from  Morewood  on  the  essential 
truths  which  he  (Morewood)  had  grasped  and 
presented  alone  of  modern  artists.  The  theme 
was  not  exhilarating,  and  Sir  Roderick's 
tenant  soon  grew  very  tired  of  it ;  the  pre- 
sentment of  truth,  indeed,  essential  or  other- 
wise, not  being  a  matter  that  concerned  him. 
But  in  the  course  of  an  inspection  of  Sir 
Roderick's  consciousness,  he  had  come  across 
something  that  appeared  worth  following  up, 
and  toward  it  he  proceeded  to  direct  his  en- 
tertainer's conversation. 

••  I  say,  Morewood,"  said  Ayre,  breaking  in 

5 


g5  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

on  the  discourse,  "  do  you  think  it's  fair  to 
keep  that  fellow  Stafford  in  the  dark  ?  " 

"  Is  he  in  the  dark  ?  " 

"  It's  a  queer  thing,  but  he  is.  I  never 
knew  a  man  who  was  in  love  before  without 
knowing  it, — they  say  women  are  that  way, — • 
but  then  I  never  met  a  '  Father'  before." 

"  What  do  you  propose,  since  you  insist  on 
gossiping  ?  " 

"It  isn't  gossip;  it's  Christian  feeling. 
Some  one  ought  to  tell  the  poor  beggar." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  to." 

"  I  should,  but  it  would  seem  like  a  liberty, 
and  I  never  take  liberties.  You  do  constantly, 
so  you  might  as  well  take  this  one." 

"  I  like  that  !  Why,  the  man's  a  stranger  ! 
If  he  ought  to  be  told  at  all,  Lane's  the  man 
to  do  it." 

"  Yes,  but  you  see,  Lane " 

"  That's  quite  true  ;  I  forgot.  But  isn't  he 
better  left  alone  to  get  over  it  ?  " 

Sir  Roderick,  unprejudiced,  might  have  con- 
ceded the  point.     But  the  prompter  intervened. 

"  What  I'm  thinking  about  is  this  :  is  it  fair 
to  her  ?  I  don't  say  she's  in  love  with  him, 
but  she  admires  him  immensely.  They're 
always  together,  and — well,  it's  plain  what's 
likely  enough  to  happen.  If  it  does,  what  will 
be  said  ?  Who'll  believe  he  did  it  uncon- 
sciously ?  And  if  he  breaks  her  heart,  how  is 
it  better  because  he  did  it  unconsciously  ?  " 

"  You  are  unusually  benevolent,"  said  More- 
wood  dryly. 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST,    gy 

"  Hang  it  !  a  man  has  some  feelings." 

"  You're  a  humbug,  Ayre  !  " 

«« Never  mind  what  I  am.  You  won't  tell 
him  ?  " 

"No." 

"  It  would  be  a  very  interesting  problem." 

"  It  would." 

"  That  vow  of  his  is  all  nonsense,  ain't 
it?" 

"  Utter  nonsense  !  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  have  his  chance  of 
being  happy  in  a  reasonable  way  ?  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  she  took  him." 

"  No  more  should  I." 

«•  Upon  my  soul,  I  believe  it's  a  duty  !  I 
say,  Morewood,  do  you  think  he'd  see  it  for 
himself  from  the  picture  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  would.  No  one  could  help 
it." 

"  Will  you  let  him  see  it  ?  " 

Morewood  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down, 
tugging  his  beard.  The  issue  was  doubtful. 
A  certain  auditor  of  the  conversation,  perceiv- 
ing this,  hastily  transferred  himself  from  one 
interlocutor  to  the  other. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do:  I'll  let  him  see 
it  if  Lane  agrees.     I'll  leave  it  to  Lane." 

"  Rather  rough  on  Lane,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  A  little  strong  emotion  of  any  kind  won't 
do  Lane  any  harm." 

"  Perhaps  not.  We  will  train  our  young 
friend's  mind  to  cope  with  moral  problems. 
He'll  never  get   on   in  the   world    nowadays 


68  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

unless  he  can  do  that.  It's  now  part  of  a 
gentleman's — still  more  of  a  lady's — educa- 
tion." 

Eugene  was  clearly  wanted.  By  some 
agency,  into  which  it  is  needless  to  inquire, 
though  we  may  have  suspicions,  at  that 
moment  Eugene  strolled  into  the  billiard- 
room. 

"We  have  a  little  question  to  submit  to 
you,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Ayre  blandly. 

Eugene  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  He 
had  been  a  good  deal  worried  the  last  few 
days,  and  had  a  dim  idea  that  he  deserved  it, 
which  deprived  him  of  the  sense  of  unmerited 
suffering — a  most  valuable  consolation  in  time 
of  trouble. 

"  It's  about  Stafford.  You  remember  the 
head  of  him  Morewood  did,  and  the  conclu- 
sion we  drew  from  it — or,  rather,  it  forced 
upon  us?" 

Eugene  nodded,  instinctively  assuming  his 
most  nonchalant  air. 

"  We  think  he's  a  bad  case.  What  think 
you  ?  " 

"  I  agree — at  least,  I  suppose  I  do.  I 
haven't  thought  much  about  it." 

Ayre  thought  the  indifference  overdone,  but 
he  took  no  notice  of  it. 

"  We  are  inclined  to  think  he  ought  to  be 
shown  that  picture.  I  am  clear  about  it  ; 
Morewood  doubts.  And  we  are  going  to 
refer  it  to  you." 

"  You'd  better  leave  me  out." 


THREE  GEbTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST.    £g 

"  Not  at  all.  You're  a  friend  of  his,  known 
him  all  your  life,  and  you'll  know  best  what 
will  be  for  his  good." 

"  If  you  insist  on  asking  me,  I  think  you 
had  better  let  it  alone." 

"Wait  a  minute.  Why  do  you  say 
that  ? " 

"  Because  it  will  be  a  shock  to  him." 

"  No  doubt,  at  first.  He's  got  some  silly 
notion  in  his  head  about  not  marrying,  and 
about  its  being  sinful  to  fall  in  love,  and  all 
that." 

"  It  won't  make  him  happier  to  be  i*e- 
fused." 

Ayre  leant  forward  in  his  chair,  and  said  : 

"  How  do  you  know  she'll  refuse  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  likely  ?  " 

"  Is  that  a  fair  question  ? "  asked  More- 
wood. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Eugene,  with  an  expres- 
sionless face.  "  But  it's  one  I  have  no  means 
of  answering." 

"He's  plucky,"  thought  Ayre.  "Would 
you  give  the  same  answer  you  gave  just  now 
if  you  thought  she'd  take  him  ?  " 

It  was  certainly  hard  on  Eugene.  Was  he 
bound,  against  even  a  tolerably  strong  feeling 
of  his  own,  to  give  Stafford  every  chance  ?  It 
is  not  fair  to  a  man  to  make  him  a  judge 
where  he  is  in  truth  a  party.  Ayre  had  no 
mercy  for  him. 

"  For  the  sake  of  a  trumpery  pledge  is  he 


JO  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

to  throw  away  his  own  happiness — and  mark 
you,  Lane,  perhaps  hers  ?  " 

Eugene  did  not  wince. 

"  If  there's  a  chance  of  success,  he  ought  to 
be  given  the  opportunity  of  exercising  his  own 
judgment,"  he  said  quietly.  "  It  would  dis- 
tress him  immensely,  but  we  should  have  no 
right  to  keep  it  from  him.  And  I  suppose 
there's  always  a  chance  of  success." 

"Go  and  get  the  picture,  Morewood,"  said 
Sir  Roderick.  Then,  when  the  painter  was 
looking  in  the  portfolio,  he  said  abruptly  to 
Eugene : 

"You  could  say  nothing  else." 

"  No.  That's  why  you  asked  me,  I  sup- 
pose. I  hope  I'm  an  interesting  subject.  You 
dig  pretty  deep." 

"  Serves  you  right  !  "  said  Ayre  com- 
posedly.    "  Why  were  you  ever  such  an  ass  ?  " 

"  God  knows  !  "  groaned  Eugene. 

Morewood  returned. 

"  He's  due  here  in  ten  minutes  to  sit  to  me. 
Are  you  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  No.  You  be  doing  something  else,  and 
let  that  thing  stand  on  the  easel." 

"  Pleasant  for  me,  isn't  it  ?  "  asked  More- 
wood. 

"  Are  you  ashamed  of  yourself  for  snatch- 
ing it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  All  right,  then  ;  what's  the  matter  ?  Come 
along,  Eugene.  After  all,  you  know  you'll 
like  showing  it.     For  an  outsider,  like  your. 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST,    yj 

self,  it's  really  a  deuced  clever  little  bit. 
Perhaps  they  will  make  you  an  Associate  if 
Stafford  will  let  you  show  it." 

Morewood  ignored  the  taunt,  and  sat  down 
by  the  window  on  pretense  of  touching  up  a 
sketch.  He  had  not  been  there  long  when  he 
heard  Stafford  come  in,  and  became  conscious 
that  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  picture.  He 
did  not  look  up,  and  heard  no  sound.  A 
long  pause  followed.  Then  he  felt  a  strong 
grip  on  his  shoulder,  and  Stafford  whispered  : 

"  It  is  my  face  ?  " 

"  You  see  it  is." 

"  You  did  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon,"  and 
he  looked  up.  Stafford  was  pale  as  death,  and 
trembling. 

«'  When  ?  " 

"  A  few  days  ago." 

"  On  your  oath — no,  you  don't  believe  that 
— on  your  honor,  is  it  truth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is." 

"  You  saw  it — just  as  it  is  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  exact.  I  had  no  right  to  take  it 
or  to  show  it  you." 

"  What  does  that  matter,  man  ?  Do  you 
think  I  care  about  that  ?  But — yes,  it  is  true. 
God  help  me  !  " 

"  We  have  seen  it,  you  know.  It  was  time 
you  saw  it." 

"Time,  indeed  ! " 

"Where's  the  harm  ?  "  asked  Morewood,  in 
a  rough  effort  at  comfort. 


y2  FATHER  STAFFORD 

"  The  harm  ?  But  you  don't  understand. 
It  is  the  face  of  a  beast  !  " 

"My  dear  fellow,  that's  stuff!  It's  only  the 
face  of  a  lover." 

Stafford  looked  at  him  in  a  dazed  way. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  go  back  to  my  room. 
Morewood,  and  give  me  that  picture.  No — I 
won't  hurt  it." 

'*  Take  it,  then,  and  pull  yourself  together. 
What's  the  harm,  again  I  say  ?  And  if  she 
loves  you " 

"  What  ?  "  he  cried  eagerly.  Then,  check- 
ing himself,  "  Hold  your  peace,  in  Heaven's 
name,  and  let  me  go  !  " 

He  went  his  way,  and  Morewood  leaped 
from  the  window  to  find  the  other  two.  He 
found  them,  but  not  alone.  Ayre  was  dis- 
coursing to  Claudia  and  appeared  entirely 
oblivious  of  the  occurrence  which  he  had  pre- 
cipitated. Eugene  was  walking  up  and  down 
with  Kate  Bernard.  It  is  necessary  to  listen 
to  what  the  latter  couple  were  saying. 

"  This  is  sad  news,  Kate,"  Eugene  said. 
"  Why  are  you  going  to  leave  us  ?" 

"  My  aunt  wants  me  to  go  with  her  to  Bux- 
ton in  September,  and  we're  going  to  have  a 
few  days  on  the  river  before  that." 

"  Then  we  shall  not  meet  again  for  some 
time  ?  " 

«'  No.     Of  course  I  shall  write  to  you." 

*'  Thank  you — I  hope  you  will.  You've  had 
a  pleasant  time,  I  hope  ?  Who  are  to  be 
your  river  party  ?  " 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST.     --, 

"  Oh,  just  ourselves  and  one  or  two  girls 
and  men.  Lord  Rickmansworth  is  to  be 
there  a  day  or  t\A,  if  he  can.  And — oh,  yes, 
Mr.  Haddington,^lhjnJj# 

"  Isn't  Haddington  staying  here  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I 'understood  not.  So 
your  party  will  break  up,"  Kate  went  on. 
"  Of  cours*;  Claudia  can't  stay  when  I  go." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Really,  Eugene,  it  would  be  hardly  the 
thing." 

"  I  believe  my  mother  is  not  thinking  of 
going." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  will  ask  Claudia  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  cannot  ask  her  to  curtail  her 
visit." 

"  Anyhow,  Father  Stafford  goes  soon,  and 
she  won't  stay  then." 

This  last  shaft  accomplished  Miss  Bernard's 
presumable  object.     Eugene  lost  his  temper. 

"  Forgive  me  for  saying  so,  Kate,"  he  said, 
"  but  really  at  times  your  mind  seems  to  me 
positively  vulgar." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  quarrel.  I  am  quite 
aware  of  what  you  want." 

"What's  that?  " 

"  An  opportunity  for  quarreling." 

"  If  that's  all,  I  might  have  found  several. 
But  come,  Kate,  it's  no  use,  and  not  very  dig- 
nified, to  squabble.  We  haven't  got  on  so 
well  as  we  might.    But  I  dare  say  it's  my  fault." 

"  Do  you  want  to  throw  me  over  ?  "  asked 
Kate  scornfully. 


~a  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  talk  like  a 
breach-of-promise  plaintiff !  I  am  and  al- 
ways have  been  perfectly  ready  to  fulfill  my 
engagement.  But  you  don't  make  it  easy  for 
me.  Unless  you  '  throw  me  over,'  as  you  are 
pleased  to  phrase  it,  things  will  remain  as 
they  are." 

"  I  have  been  taught  to  consider  an  engage- 
ment as  binding  as  a  marriage." 

"No  warrant  for  such  a  view  in  Holy 
Scripture." 

"  And  whatever  my  feelings  may  .be — and 
you  can  hardly  wonder  if,  after  your  conduct, 
they  are  not  what  they  were — I  shall  consider 
myself  bound." 

"  I  have  never  proposed  anything  else." 

"Your  conduct  with  Claudia " 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  Lady  Claudia 
alone.  If  you  come  to  that — but  there,  I  was 
just  going  to  scratch  back  like  a  school-girl. 
Let  us  remember  our  manners,  if  nothing  else." 

"  And  our  principles,"  added  Kate 
haughtily. 

"  By  all  means,  and  forget  our  deviations 
from  them.  And  now  this  conversation  may 
as  well  end,  may  it  not  ?  " 

Kate's  only  answer  was  to  walk  straight 
away  to  the  house. 

Eugene  joined  Claudia  ;  Ayre,  in  his  ab- 
sence, had  been  reinforced  by  the  accession 
of  Bob  Territon. 

"Kate's  going  to-morrow,"  Eugene  an- 
nounced. 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST,    ye 

"Sol  heard,"  said  Claudia.  "We  must 
g0>  too — we  have  been  here  a  terrible  time." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  It's  all  nonsense  ! "  interposed  Bob  de- 
cisively ;  we  can't  go  for  a  week.  The  match 
is  fixed  for  next  Wednesday." 

"  But,"  said  Claudia,  "  I'm  not  going  to 
play." 

"  I  am,"  said  Bob.  "  And  where  do  you 
propose  to  go  to  ?  " 

"  No,  Lady  Claudia,"  said  Eugene,  "  you 
must  see  us  through  the  great  day.  I  really 
wish  you  would.  The  whole  county's  com- 
ing, and  it  will  be  too  much  for  my  mother 
alone.  After  the  cricket-match,  if  you  still 
insist,  the  deluge  !  " 

<•  I'll  ask  Mrs.  Lane.  She'll  tell  me  what 
to  do." 

"Good  child!"  said  Sir  Roderick.  "I 
am  going  to  stay  right  away  till  the  birds. 
And  as  Lane  says  I  ain't  to  have  any  birds 
unless  I  field  at  long-leg,  I  am  going  to  field 
at  long-leg." 

"  Splendid  !  "  cried  Claudia,  clapping  her 
hands  ;  "  Sir  Roderick  Ayre  at  a  rustic 
cricket-match  !  Mr.  Morewood  shall  sketch 
you." 

"  I've  had  enough  of  sketching  just  now," 
said  Morewood.  Ayre  and  Eugene  looked  up. 
Morewood  nodded  slightly. 

•■  Where's  Stafford  ?  "  asked  Ayre. 

"  In  his  room — at  work,  I  suppose.  He  put 
off  my  sitting." 


y 5  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  Never  mind  Father  Stafford,"  said  Claudia 
decisively.  "  Who  is  going  to  play  tennis  ?  I 
shall  play  with  Sir  Roderick." 

"  I'd  much  rather  sit  still  in  the  shade," 
pleaded  Sir  Roderick. 

"  You're  a  very  rude  old  gentleman  !  But 
you  must  play,  all  the  same — against  Bob  and 
Mr.  Morewood." 

"  Where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  asked  Eugene. 
"  Mayn't  I  do  anything,  Lady  Claudia  ?  " 

The  others  were  looking  after  the  net  and 
the  racquets,  and  Claudia  was  left  with  him 
for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  you  may  go  and  sit  on 
Kate's  trunks  till  they  lock." 

"  Wait  a  little  while  ;  I  will  be  revenged  on 
you.     I  want,  though,  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  Oh  !  Is  it  a  question  that  no  one  else 
— say  Kate,  for  instance  —  could  help  you 
with  ?  " 

"  It's  not  about  myself." 

"  Is  it  about  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Lane  ?  Is  it  any- 
thing serious  ?  " 

"  Very." 

*'  Nonsense  !  "  said  Claudia.  "  You  really 
mustn't  do  it,  Mr.  Lane,  or  I  can't  stay  for  the 
cricket-match." 

"  We  shall  be  desolate.  Stafford's  going  in 
a  few  days." 

But  Claudia's  face  was  entirely  guileless  as 
she  replied  : 


THREE  GENTLEMEN  ACT  FOR  THE  BEST.     »* 

"  Is  he  ?  I'm  so  sorry  !  But  he's  looking 
much  stronger,  isn't  he  ?  " 

With  which  she  departed  to  join  Sir  Rod- 
erick, who  had  been  spending  the  interval 
in  extracting  from  Morewood  an  account  of 
Stafford's  behavior. 

*'  Hard  hit,  was  he  ?  "  he  concluded. 

"  He  looked  it." 

"Wonder  what  he'll  do  !  I'll  give  you  five 
to  four  he  asks  her." 

"  Done  !  "  said  Morewood  ;  "in  fives." 


7* 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ffatber  Stafford  Tkeeps  Digit. 


F^ggsniNNER   that  evening  at  the  Manor 


was  not  a  very  brilliant  affair.  Staf- 
WA  ford  did  not  appear,  pleading  that  it 
**^  was  a  Friday,  and  a  strict  fast  for 
him.  Kate  was  distinctly  out  of  temper,  and 
treated  the  company  in  general,  and  Eugene 
in  particular,  with  frigidity.  Everybody  felt 
that  the  situation  was  somewhat  strained,  and 
in  consequence  the  pleasant  flow  of  personal 
talk  that  marks  parties  of  friends  was  dried 
up  at  its  source.  The  discussion  of  general 
topics  was  found  to  be  a  relief. 

"  The  utter  uselessness  of  such  a  class  as 
Ayre  represents,"  said  Morewood  emphatically, 
taking  up  a  conversation  that  had  started  no 
one  quite  knew  how,  "  must  strike  every  sen- 
sible man." 

"At  least  they  buy  pictures,"  said  Eugene. 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  now  sell  old  mas- 
ters, and  empty  the  pockets  of  would-be 
buyers." 

"  They  are  very  ornamental,"  remarked 
Claudia. 


KEEPING  VIGIL.  *g 

"  In  some  cases,  undoubtedly,"  said  More- 
wood. 

"  If  you  mean  a  titled  class,"  said  Ayre,  "  I 
quite  agree.  I  object  to  titles.  They  only 
confuse  ranks.  A  sweep  is  made  a  lord,  and 
outsiders  think  he's  a  gentlemen." 

"  Come,  you're  a  baronet  yourself,  you 
know,"  said  Eugene. 

"  It's  true,"  admitted  Ayre,  with  a  sigh  ; 
"  but  it  happened  a  long  while  ago,  and  we've 
nearly  lived  it  down." 

"Take  care  they  don't  make  you  a  peer  !  " 

"  I  have  passed  a  busy  life  in  avoiding  it. 
After  all,  there's  a  chance.  I'm  not  a  brewer 
or  a  lawyer,  or  anything  of  that  kind.  But 
still,  the  fear  of  it  has  paralyzed  my  energies 
and  compelled  me  to  squander  my  fortune. 
They  don't  make  poor  men  peers." 

"That  ought  to  have  been  allowed  to  weigh 
in  the  balance  in  favor  of  Dives,"  suggested 
Eugene. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Ayre.  "  Depend  upon  it, 
they  kept  it  for  him  down  below." 

"  I  hate  cynicism  !  "  said  Claudia,  suddenly 
and  aggressively. 

Ayre  put  up  his  eyeglass. 

"  Apres  ?  " 

"  It's  all  affectation." 

"  Really,  Lady  Claudia,  you  might  be  quite 
old,  from  the  way  you  talk.  That  is  one  of 
the  illusions  of  age,  which,  by  the  way,  have 
not  received  enough  attention." 

"That's   very   true,"  said    Eugene.     "Old 


g0  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

people  think  the  world  better  than  it,  is  be. 
cause  their  faculties  don't  enable  them  to  make 
such  demands  upon  it." 

"  My  dear  Eugene,"  said  Mrs.  Lane  perti- 
nently, "  what  can  you  know  about  it  ?  As 
we  grow  old  we  grow  charitable." 

"And  why  is  that?"  asked  -Morewood; 
"  not  because  you  think  better  ot  other  people, 
but  because  you  know  more  of  yourself." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Ayre.  "  Standing  mid- 
way between  youth  and  age,  I  am  an  arbiter. 
You  judge  others  by  yourself.  In  youth  you 
have  an  unduly  good  opinion  of  yourself,  that 
unduly  depresses  your  opinion  of  others.  In 
age  it's  the  opposite  way.  But  who  knows 
which  is  more  wrong  ?  " 

"  At  least  let  us  hope  age  is  right,  Sir 
Roderick,"  said  Mrs.  Lane. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  he. 

"  All  this  doesn't  touch  my  point,"  said 
Claudia.  "  You  are  accounting  for  it  as  if  it 
existed.  My  point  was  that  it  didn't  exist.  I 
said  it  was  all  affectation." 

"  And  not  the  only  sort  of  affectation  of 
the  same  kind  !  "  said  Kate  Bernard,  with  re- 
markable emphasis. 

Sir  Roderick  enjoyed  a  troubled  sea.  Turn- 
ing to  Kate,  with  a  rapid  side  glance  at 
Claudia  on  the  way,  he  said  : 

"  That's  interesting.  How  do  you  mean, 
Miss  Bernard  ?  " 

"  All  attempts  to  put  one's  self  forward,  to 
be  peculiar,  and    so  on,  are  the  same  kind  of 


KEEPING  VIGIL.  gj 

affectation,     and     are    odious — especially    in 
women." 

There  was  nothing  very  much  in  the  words, 
and  Kate  was  careful  to  look  straight  in  front 
of  her  as  she  uttered  them.     Still  they  told. 

"  You  mean,"  said  Ayre,  "  there  may  be  an 
affectation  of  freshness  and  enthusiasm — gush, 
in  fact — as  bad,  or  worse,  than  cynicism,  and 
really  springing  from  the  same  root  ?  " 

Kate  had  not  arrived  at  any  such  definite 
meaning,  but  she  nodded  her  head. 

"  An  assumed  sprightliness,"  continued 
Ayre  cheerfully,  "  perhaps  coquettishness  ?  " 

'*  Exactly,"  Kate  assented,  "  and  a  way  of 
pushing  into  conversations  which  my  mother 
used  to  say  girls  had  better  let  alone." 

This  was  tolerably  direct,  but  it  did  not 
satisfy  Ayre's  malicious  humor,  and  he  was 
on  the  point  of  a  newquestion  when  Hadding- 
ton, who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  previous 
conversation,  but  had  his  reasons  for  interfer- 
ing now,  put  in  suavely  : 

"  If  Miss  Bernard  and  you,  Ayre, will  forgive 
me,  are  we  not  wandering  from  the  point  ?  " 

"  Was  there  any  point  to  wander  from  ?  " 
suggested  Eugene. 

So  they  drifted  through  the  evening,  skirt- 
ing the  coast  of  quarrels  and  talking  of  every- 
thing except  that  of  which  they  were  think- 
ing. Verily,  love  affairs  do  not  always  con- 
duce to  social  enjoyment — more  especially 
other  people's  love  affairs.  Still,  Sir  Roderick 
Ayre  was  entertained. 
6 


3  2  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

Meanwhile,  Stafford  sat  in  his  room  alone, 
save  for  the  company  of  his  own  picture.  He 
was  like  a  man  who  has  been  groping  his  way- 
through  difficult  paths  in  the  dark — uneasy,  it 
may  be,  and  nervous,  but  with  no  serious 
alarm.  On  a  sudden,  a  storm-flash  may  re- 
veal to  him  that  he  is  on  the  very  edge  of  a 
precipice  or  already  ankle-deep  in  some  bot- 
tomless morass.  The  sight  of  his  own  face, 
interpreted  with  all  Morewood's  penetrating 
insight  and  mastery  of  hand,  had  been  a 
revelation  to  him.  No  more  mercilessly  can- 
did messenger  could  have  been  found.  Argu- 
ments he  would  have  resisted  or  confuted  ; 
appeals  to  his  own  consciousness  would  have 
failed  for  want  of  experience  ;  he  could  not 
affect  to  disbelieve  the  verdict  of  his  own 
countenance.  He  had  in  all  his  life  been  a 
man  who  dealt  plainly  with  himself  ;  it  was 
only  in  this  last  matter  that  the  power,  more 
than  the  will,  to  understand  his  own  heart 
had  failed  him.  His  intellect  now  reasserted 
itself.  He  did  not  attempt  to  blink  facts  ;  he 
did  not  deny  the  truth  of  the  revelation  or 
seek  to  extenuate  its  force.  He  did  not  tell 
himself  that  the  matter  was  a  trifle,  or  that 
its  effect  would  be  transient.  He  recognized 
that  he  had  fallen  from  the  state  of  a  priest 
vowed  to  Heaven,  to  that  of  a  man  whose 
whole  heart  and  mind  had  gone  out  in  love 
for  a  woman  and  were  filled  with  her  image. 
His  judgment  of  himself  was  utterly  reversed, 
his  pre-suppositions  confounded,   his  scheme 


KEEPING  VIGIL.  g, 

of  life  wrecked;  all  this  he  knew  for  truth, 
unless  indeed  it  might  be  that  victory  could 
still  be  his — victory  after  a  struggle  even  to 
death  ;  a  struggle  that  had  found  no  type 
or  forecast  in  the  mimic  contests  that  had 
marked,  almost  without  disturbing,  his  earlier 
progress  on  the  road  of  his  choice. 

In  the  long  hours  that  he  sat  gazing  at  the 
picture  his  mind  was  the  scene  of  changing 
moods.  At  first  the  sense  of  horror  and 
shame  was  paramount.  He  was  aghast  at 
himself  and  too  full  of  self-abhorrence  to  do 
more  than  fight  blindly  away  from  what  he 
could  not  but  see.  He  would  fain  have  lost 
his  senses  if  only  to  buy  the  boon  of  igno- 
rance. Then  this  mood  passed.  The  long 
habit  of  his  heart  asserted  itself,  and  he  fell 
on  his  knees,  no  longer  in  horror,  but  in 
abasement  and  penitence.  Now  all  his 
thought  was  for  the  sin  he  had  done  to 
Heaven  and  to  his  vow  ;  but  had  he  not  learnt 
and  taught,  and  re-learnt  in  teaching,  that 
there  was  no  sin  without  pardon,  if  pardon 
were  sought  ?  And  for  a  moment,  not  peace, 
but  the  far-off  possible  hope  and  prospect  of 
peace  regained  comforted  his  spirit.  It  might 
be  yet  that  he  would  come  through  the  dark 
valley,  and  gaze  with  his  old  eyes  on  the  light 
of  his  life  set  in  the  sky. 

But  was  his  sin  only  against  Heaven  and 
his  vow  and  himself?  Is  sin  so  confined  ? 
If  Morewood  had  seen,  had  not  others  ?  Had 
not  she  seen  ?     Would  not  the  discovery  he 


g  a  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

had  made  come  to  her  also  ?  Nay,  had  it  not 
come  ?  He  had  been  blind  ;  but  had  she  ? 
Was  it  not  far  more  likely  that  she  had  not 
deceived  herself  as  to  the  tendency  of  their 
friendship,  nor  dreamt  that  he  meant  any- 
thing except  what  his  acts,  words,  and  looks 
had  so  plainly — yes,  to  his  own  eyes  now,  so 
plainly  declared  ?  He  looked  back  on  her 
graciousness,  her  delight  in  his  society,  her 
unconcealed  admiration  for  him.  What  mean- 
ing had  these  but  one  ?  What  did  she  know 
of  his  vow  ?  Why  should  she  dream  ot  any- 
thing save  the  happy  ending  of  the  story  that 
flits  before  the  half-averted  eyes  of  a  girl 
when  she  is  with  her  lover  ?  Even  if  she  had 
heard  of  his  vow,  would  they  not  all  tell  her 
it  was  a  conceit  of  youth,  a  spiritual  affecta- 
tion, a  thing  that  a  wise  counselor  would  tell 
him  and  her  quietly  to  set  aside  ?  Did  it  not 
all  point  to  this  ?  He  was  not  only  a  per- 
jurer toward  Heaven,  but  his  sin  had  brought 
woe  and  pain  to  her  he  loved. 

So  he  groaned  in  renewed  self-condem- 
nation. But  what  did  that  mean  ?  And  then 
an  irresistible  tide  of  triumph  swept  over  him, 
obliterating  shame  and  horror  and  remorse, 
She  loved  him.  He  had  won.  Be  it  good  or 
evil,  she  was  his  !  Who  forbade  his  joy  ? 
Though  all  he  world,  aye,  and  all  Heaven, 
were  against  him,  nothing  should  stop  him. 
Should  he  sin  for  naught  ?  Should  he  not 
have  the  price  of  his  soul  ?  Should  he  not 
enjoy  what  he  had  bought  so  dearly  ?     Enough 


KEEPING  VIGIL.  ge 

of  talking,  and  enough  of  reasoning  !  Passion 
filled  him,  and  he  knew  no  good  nor  evil  save 
its  satiety  or  hunger. 

The  mad  mood  passed,  and  there  came  a 
worthier  mind.  He  sat  and  looked  along  the 
avenue  of  his  life.  He  saw  himself  walking 
hand  in  hand  with  her.  Now  she  was  not  the 
instrument  of  his  pleasure,  but  the  helper  in 
his  good  deeds.  By  her  sweet  influence  he 
was  stronger  to  do  well;  his  broader  sympathies 
and  fuller  life  made  a  servant  more  valuable 
to  his  Master  ;  he  would  serve  Heaven  as  well 
and  man  better,  and,  knowing  the  common  joys 
of  man,  he  would  better  minister  to  common 
pains.  Who  was  he  that  he  should  claim  to 
lead  a  life  apart,  or  arrogate  to  himself  an  im- 
munity and  an  independence  other  men  had 
not  ?  Man  and  woman  created  He  them,  and 
did  it  not  make  for  good  ?  And  he  sank  back 
in  his  chair,  with  the  picture  of  a  life  before 
him,  blessed  and  giving  blessings,  and  ending 
at  last  in  an  old  age,  when  she  would  still 
be  with  him,  when  he  should  be  the  head  and 
inspiration  of  a  house  wherein  God's  service 
was  done,  when  he  should  see  his  son's  sons 
following  in  his  steps,  and  so,  having  borne  his 
part,  fall  asleep,  to  wake  again  to  an  union 
wherein  were  no  stain  of  earth  and  no  shadow 
of  parting. 

From  these  musings  he  awoke  with  a 
shudder,  as  there  came  back  to  him  many  a 
memory  of  lofty  pitying  words,  with  which 
he  had  gently  drawn  aside  the  cloak  of  seem- 


85  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

liness  wherein  some  sinner  had  sought  to  wrap 
his  sin.  His  dream  of  the  perfect  joint-life, 
what  was  it  but  a  sham  tribute  to  decency, 
a  threadbare  garment  for  the  hideousness  of 
naked  passion  ?  Had  he  taught  himself  to  con- 
template such  a  life,  and  shaped  himself  for  it, 
it  might  be  a  worthy  life — not  the  highest,  but 
good  for  men  who  were  not  made  for  saints. 
But  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  him  but  a  glazing 
over  of  his  crime.  Sternly  there  stood  between 
him  and  it  his  profession  and  his  pledge.  If  he 
would  forsake  the  one  and  violate  the  other, 
by  Heaven,  he  would  do  it  boldly,  and  not  seek 
to  slink  out  by  such  self-cozening.  At  least, 
he  would  not  deceive  himself  again.  If  he 
sinned,  he  would  sin  openly  to  his  own  heart. 
There  should  be  no  compact :  nothing  but 
defeat  or  victory  !  And  yet,  was  he  right  ?  It 
would  be  pitiful  if  for  pride's  sake,  if  for 
fear  of  the  sneers  of  men,  he  were  to  kill  her 
joy  and  defile  his  own  soul  with  her  heart's 
blood.  People  would  laugh  at  the  converted 
celibate — was  it  that  he  feared  ?  Had  he  fallen 
so  low  as  that  ?  or  was  the  shrinking  he  felt 
not  rather  the  dread  that  his  fall  wouid  be 
a  stone  of  stumbling  to  others  ?  for  in  his  in- 
fatuation he  had  assumed  to  be  an  example. 
Was  there  no  distinguishing  good  and  evil  ? 
Could  every  motive  and  every  act  change 
form  and  color  as  you  looked  at  it,  and  be 
now  the  counsel  of  Heaven,  and  now  the 
prompting  of  Satan  ?  How,  then,  could  a 
man  choose  his  path  ?     In  his  bewilderment 


KEEPING  VIGIL.  gy 

the     darkness     closed     round     him,    and     he 
groaned  aloud. 

It  was  late  now,  nearly  midnight,  and  the 
house  was  quiet.  Stafford  walked  to  the  open 
window  and  leant  out,  bending  his  tired  head 
upon  his  hand.  As  he  looked  out  he  saw 
through  the  darkness  Eugene  and  Ayre  still 
sitting  on  the  terrace.     Ayre  was  talking. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "  we  are  taught  to> 
think  ourselves  of  a  mighty  deal  of  import- 
ance. How  we  fare  and  what  we  do  is  set 
before  us  as  a  thing  about  which  angels  re- 
joice or  mourn.  The  state  of  our  little  minds, 
or  souls,  or  whatever  it  is,  is  a  matter  of  deep 
care  to  the  Creator — the  Life  of  the  universe. 
How  can  it  be  ?  How  are  we  more  than 
minutest  points  in  that  picture  in  his  mind, 
which  is  the  world  ?  I  speak  in  human  meta- 
phor, as  one  must  speak.  In  truth,  we  are  at 
once  a  fraction,  a  tiny  fraction — oh  !  what  a 
tiny  fraction — of  the  picture,  and  the  like  little 
jot  of  what  it  exists  for.  And  does  what 
comes  to  us  matter  very  much — whether  we 
walk  a  little  more  or  a  little  less  cleanly — aim 
a  little  higher  or  lower,  if  there  is  a  higher 
and  lower  ?  What  matter  ?  Ah,  Eugene, 
our  parents  and  our  pastors  teach  us  vanity  ! 
To  me  it  seems  pitiful.  Let  us  take  our  little 
sunshine,  doing  as  little  harm  and  giving  as 
little  pain  as  we  may,  living  as  long  as  we  can, 
and  doing  our  little  bit  of  useful  work  for  the 
ground  when  we  are  dead,  if  we  did  none  for 
the  world  when  we  were  living.     If  you  ere- 


3S  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

mate,  you  will  deprive  many  people  of  their 
only  utility." 

Eugene  gently  laughed. 

"  Of  course  you  put  it  as  unattractively  as 
you  can." 

"Yes;  but  I  can't  put  it  unattractively 
enough  to  be  true.  I  used  to  fret  and  strive, 
and  think  archangels  hung  on  my  actions. 
There  are  none  ;  and  if  there  were,  what 
would  they  care  for  me  ?  I  am  a  part  of  it,  I 
suppose— a  part  of  the  Red  King's  dream,  as 
Alice  says.  But  what  a  little  part  !  I  do  well 
if  I  suffer  little  and  give  little  suffering,  and  so 
quietly  go  to  help  the  cabbages." 

"  I  don't  think  I  believe  it,"  said  Eugene. 

"  I  suppose  not.  It's  hard  to  believe  and 
impossible  to  disbelieve." 

Stafford  listened  intently.  Memories  came 
back  to  him  of  books  he  had  read  and  put  be- 
hind him  ;  books  wherein  Ayre  had  found  his 
creed,  if  the  thing  could  be  called  a  creed. 
Was  that  true  ?  Was  he  rending  his  soul  for 
nothing  ?  A  day  earlier  such  a  thought  would 
have  been  to  him  at  once  a  torture  and  a  sin. 
Now  he  found  a  strange  comfort  in  it.  Why 
strive  and  cry,  when  none  watched  the  effort 
or  heard  the  agony?  Why  torture  himself? 
Why  torture  others  ?  If  the  world  were  good, 
why  was  he  not  to  have  his  part  ?  If  it  were 
bad,  might  he  not  find  a  quiet  nook  under  the 
wall,  out  of  the  storm  ?  Why  must  he  try  to 
breast  it  ?  If  Ayre  was  right,  what  a  tragical 
farce  his  struggle  was,  what  a  perverse  delu- 


KEEPING  VIGIL.  g~ 

sion,  what  an  aimless  flinging-  away  of  the  little 
joy  his  little  life  could  offer  !  If  this  were  so, 
then  was  he  indeed  alone  in  the  world — except 
for  Claudia.  Was  his  choice  in  truth  between 
this  world  and  the  next  ?  He  might  throw 
one  away  and  never  find  the  other. 

Then  he  cursed  the  voice,  and  himself  for 
listening  to  it,  and  fell  again  to  vehement 
prayers  and  self-reproaches,  trying  to  drown 
the  clamor  of  his  heart  with  his  insistent  peti- 
tions. If  he  could  only  pray  as  he  had  been 
wont  to  pray,  he  was  saved.  There  lay  a  re- 
spite from  thought  and  a  refuge  from  passion. 
Why  could  he  not  abandon  his  whole  soul  to 
communion  with  God,  as  once  he  could,  shut- 
ting out  all  save  the  sense  of  sin  and  the  con- 
viction of  forgiveness  ?  He  prayed  for  power 
to  pray.  But,  like  the  guilty  king,  he  could 
not  say  Amen.  He  could  not  bind  his  wan- 
dering thoughts,  nor  dispel  the  forward  imagin- 
ings of  his  distempered  mind.  He  asked  one 
thing,  and  in  his  heart  desired  another  ;  he 
prayed,  and  did  not  desire  an  answer  to  his 
prayer  ;  for  when  he  tried  to  bow  his  heart  in 
supplication,  ever  in  the  midst,  between  him 
and  the  throne  before  which  he  bent,  came  the 
form  and  the  face  and  the  voice  he  loved,  and 
the  temptation  and  the  longing  and  the  doubt. 
And  he  was  tost  and  driven  about  through  the 
livelong  night  till,  in  utter  weariness,  he  fell  oa 
the  floor  and  slept. 


gQ  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

an  earls  Grain  ant>  a  /Hborntns's  Bmuse* 
ment. 

r^y^^^JjT  was  still  early  when  he  awoke, 
H  weary,  stiff,  and  unrefreshed,  but 
with  a  conviction  in  his  mind  that  had 
grown  plain  and  strong  in  the  mys- 
terious way  notions  sometimes  seem  to  gather 
force  in  hours  of  unconsciousness,  and  surprise 
us  with  their  mature  vigor  when  we  awake. 
"  I  must  go  !  "  he  kept  muttering  to  himself ;  "  I 
must  go — go  and  think.  I  dare  do  nothing 
now."  He  hastily  packed  a  hand  bag,  wrote 
a  note  for  Eugene,  asking  that  the  rest  of  his 
luggage  might  be  forwarded  to  an  address  he 
would  send,  went  quietly  downstairs,  and, 
finding  the  door  just  opened,  passed  out  un- 
seen. He  had  three  miles  to  walk  to  the 
station,  but  his  restless  feet  brought  him  there 
quickly,  and  he  had  more  than  an  hour  to  wait 
for  the  first  train,  at  half-past  eight.  He  sat 
down  on  the  platform  and  waited.  His  ca- 
pacity for  thought  and  emotion  seemed  for 
the  time  exhausted.  His  thoughts  wandered 
from  one  trivial  matter  to  another,  always 
eluding  his  effort  to  fix  them.     He  found  him- 


A  MORNING'S  AMUSEMENT.  gj 

self  acutely  studying  the  gang  of  laborers  who 
were  going  by  train  to  their  day's  work,  and 
wondering  how  many  pipes  each  of  their  care- 
fully guarded  matches  would  light,  and  what 
each  carried  in  his  battered  tin  drinking- 
bottle,  remembering  with  a  dreary  sort  of 
amusement  that  he  had  heard  this  same  in- 
curable littleness  of  thought  settled  on  men 
condemned  to  death.  Still,  it  passed  the 
time,  and  he  was  surprised  out  of  a  sort  of 
reverie  by  the  clanging  of  the  porter's  inhar- 
monious bell. 

At  the  same  moment  a  phaeton  was  rapidly 
driven  up  to  the  door  of  the  station,  and  all 
the  porters  rushed  to  meet  it. 

»  Label  it  all  for  London,"  he  heard  Eugene's 
voice  say.  "  Four  boxes,  a  portmanteau,  and 
a  hat-box.  No,  I'm  not  going— this  lady  and 
gentleman." 

Kate,  Haddington,  and  Eugene  came 
through  the  ticket-office  on  to  the  platform. 
Stafford  involuntarily  shrank  back. 

"Just  in  time!"  Eugene  was  saying; 
"  though  why  the  dickens  you  people  will 
start  at  such  an  hour,  I  don't  know.  Had- 
dington, I  suppose,  always  must  be  in  a  hurry 
— never  does  for  a  rising  man  to  admit  he's 
got  spare  time.  But  you,  Kate  !  Its  posi- 
tively uncomplimentary  !  " 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  there  was  a  troubled 
look  on  his  face  ;  and  as  Haddington  went  off 
to  take  the  tickets  he  drew  near  to  Kate,  and 
said  suddenly  : 


q2  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  You  are  determined  on  this,  Kate  ?  " 

"  On  what  ?  "  she  asked  coldly. 

"  Why,  to  go  like  this — to  bolt — it  almost 
comes  to  that — leaving  things  as  they  are  be- 
tween us  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  And  with  Haddington  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  But  how  do  you  think  it 
must  look  to  me  ?  What  do  you  imagine  my 
course  must  be  ? 

"  Really,  Eugene,  I  see  no  need  for  this 
scene.  I  suppose  your  course  will  be  to  wait 
till  I  ask  you  to  fulfill  your  promise,  and  then 
to  fulfill  it.  You  have  no  sort  of  cause  for 
complaint." 

Eugene  could  not  resist  a  smile. 

"  You  are  sublime  !  "  he  said.  Perhaps  he 
would  have  said  more,  but  at  this  moment,  to 
his  intense  surprise,  his  eyes  met  Stafford's. 
The  latter  gave  him  a  quick  look,  in  obedience 
to  which  he  checked  his  exclamation,  and, 
making  some  excuse  about  a  parcel  due  and 
not  arrived,  unceremoniously  handed  Kate  to 
a  carriage,  bundled  Haddington  in  after  her, 
and  walked  rapidly  to  the  front  of  the  train, 
where  he  had  just  seen  Stafford  getting  into  a 
third-class  compartment. 

"  What  in  the  world's  the  meaning  of  this, 
my  dear  old  boy  ? 

"  I  have  left  a  note  for  you." 

"That  will  explain  ?  " 


A  MORNING'S  AMUSEMENT.  g, 

"  No,"  said  Stafford,  with  his  unsparing 
truthfulness,  "  it  will  not  explain." 

"  How  fagged  you  look  ! 

"  Yes,  I  am  tired." 

"  You  must  go  now,  and  like  this  ? 

"  I  think  that  is  less  bad  than  anything  else." 

«•  You  can't  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  old  fellow.  Perhaps  I  will  some 
day." 

••  You'll  let  me  know  what  you're  doing  ? 
Hallo,  she's  off  !  And,  Stafford,  nothing  ever 
between  us  ?  " 

"  Why  should  there  be  ?  "  he  answered, 
with  some  surprise.  "  But  you  know  there 
couldn't  be." 

The  train  moved  on  as  they  shook  hands, 
and  Eugene  retraced  his  steps  to  his  phaeton. 

"He's  given  her  up,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  an  irrepressible  feeling  of  relief.  "  Poor 
old  fellow  !     Now -" 

But  Eugene's  reflections  were  not  of  a  char- 
acter that  need  or  would  repay  recording. 
He  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of  himself. 
I  venture  to  think  he  was.  Nevertheless,  he 
arrived  home  in  better  spirits  than  a  man  has 
any  right  to  enjoy  when  he  has  seen  his  mis- 
tress depart  in  a  temper  and  his  best  friend  in 
sorrow.  Our  spirits  are  not  always  obedient 
to  the  dictates  of  propriety.  It  is  often  equally 
in  vain  that  we  call  them  from  the  vasty  deep, 
or  try  to  dismiss  them  to  it.  They  are  rebel- 
lious creatures,  whose  only  merit  is  their 
sincerity. 


m 

g<  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

Sir  Roderick  Ayre  allowed  few  things  to 
surprise  him,  but  the  fact  of  any  one  delib- 
erately starting  by  the  early  train  was  one  of 
the  few.  In  regard  to  such  conduct,  he  re- 
tained all  his  youthful  capacity  for  wonder. 
Surprise,  however,  gave  way  to  unrestrained 
and  indecent  exultation  when  he  learned  that 
the  early  party  had  consisted  of  Kate  and 
Haddington,  and  that  Eugene  himself  had 
escorted  them  to  the  station.  Eugene  was 
in  too  good  a  temper  to  be  seriously  annoyed. 

"  I  know  it  makes  me  look  an  ass,"  he  said, 
as  they  smoked  the  after-breakfast  pipe,  "  but 
I  suppose  that's  all  in  the  day's  work." 

"  No  doubt.  It  is  the  day's  work,"  said 
Ayre  ;  "  but,  oh,  diplomatic  young  man,  why 
didn't  you  tell  us  at  breakfast  that  the  pope 
had  also  gone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  My  man  Timmins  brings  me 
what  I  may  call  a  way-bill  every  morning, 
and  against  Stafford's  name  was  placed  '  8.30 
train.'  " 

"  Useful  man,  Timmins,"  said  Eugene. 
"  Did  he  happen  to  add  why  he  had  gone  ?" 

"  There  are  limitations  even  to  Timmins. 
He  did  not." 

"  You  can  guess  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  can,"  answered  Ayre, 
with  some  resentment. 

"He's  given  it  up,  apparently." 

«'  I  don't  know." 

"  He  must  have.     Awfully  cut  up  he  looked, 


A   MORNING'S  AMUSEMENT.  gr 

poor  old  chap  !     I  was  glad  Kate   and  Had- 
dington didn't  see  him." 

"  Poor  chap  !  He  takes  it  hard.  Hallo  ! 
here's  the /on s  et  origo  mali." 

Morewood  joined  them. 

"I  have  been,"  he  said  gravely,  "rescuing 
my  picture.  That  insipid  lunatic  had  wrapped 
it  up  in  brown  paper,  and  put  it  among  his 
socks  in  his  portmanteau.  I  couldn't  see  it 
anywhere  till  I  routed  out  the  portmanteau. 
If  it  had  come  to  grief  I  should  have  entered 
the  Academy." 

"  Don't  give  way  so,"  said  Ayre  ;  "  it's  un- 
manly.    Control  your  emotions." 

Eugene  rose. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

Eugene  smiled. 

"  This,"  said  Ayre  to  Morewood,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  "  is  an  abandoned  young 
man." 

"  It  is,"  said  Morewood.  "  Bob  Territon 
is  going  rat-hunting,  and  proposes  we  shall 
also  go.     What  say  you  ?  " 

"  I  say  yes,"  said  Sir  Roderick,  with  alacrity. 
"  It's  a  beastly  cruel  sport." 

"You  have  lost,"  said  Morewood,  as  they 
walked  away  together. 

"  Wait  a  bit  ! "  said  his  companion.  "  But, 
young  Eugene  !  It's  a  pity  that  young  man 
has  no  morals." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  not  simpliciter,  you  know.  Secun 
dum  quid." 


g6  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  Secundum  feminam,  in  fact  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  and  I  brought  him  up,  too." 

"  •  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.'  But 
here's  Bob  and  the  terriers." 

"  Don't  you  fellows  ever  have  a  sister,"  said 
Bob,  as  he  came  up  ;  "Claudia's  just  savage 
because  the  pope's  gone.  Can't  get  her  morn- 
ing absolution,  you  know." 

"  Are  absolution  and  ablution  the  same 
word,  Morewood  ?  "  asked  Ayre. 

"  Don't  know.  Ask  the  Rector.  He's  sure 
to  turn  up  when  he  hears  of  the  rats." 

"  I  think  they  must  be — a  sort  of  spiritual 
tub.  But  Morewood  will  never  admit  he's 
been  educated.  It  detracts  from  his  claim  to 
genius." 

Eugene,  freed  from  this  frivolous  company, 
was  not  long  in  discovering  Claudia's  where- 
abouts. He  felt  like  a  boy  released  from 
school  and,  turning  his  eyes  away  from  future 
difficulties,  was  determined  to  enjoy  himself 
while  he  could.  Claudia  was  seated  on  the 
lawn  in  complete  idleness  and,  apparently, 
considerable  discontent. 

"  Do  your  guests  always  scurry  away  with- 
out saying  good-by  to  anybody,  Mr.  Lane  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  hope  that  you,  at  least,  will  not.  But 
didn't  Kate  say  good-by,  or  Haddington  ?  ' 

"  I  meant  Father  Stafford,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  he  had  to  go.  He  sent  an  apology 
to  you  and  all  the  party." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  why  he  had  to  go  ?  " 


A  MORNING'S  AMUSEMENT. 


97 


"  No,"  said  Eugene,  regarding  her  with 
covert  attention. 

"  It's  a  pity  if  he's  unaccountable.  I  like 
him  so  much  otherwise." 

"  You  don't  like  unaccountable  people  ?  " 

Claudia  seemed  quite  willing  to  let  Stafford 
drop  out  of  the  conversation. 

•'  No,"  she  said  ;  "  I  tolerate  you,  Mr.  Lane, 
because  I  always  know  exactly  what  you'll  do." 

"  Do  you  ? "  he  asked,  only  moderately 
pleased.  A  man  likes  to  be  thought  a  little 
mysterious.     No  doubt  Claudia  knew  that. 

"  I  don't  think  you  know  what  I  am  going 
to  do  now.  ' 

"What?" 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  if  you  know  why- 
Father  Stafford " 

V  Oh,  please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Lane.  I  can't 
speculate  on  your  friend's  motives.  I  don't 
profess  to  understand  him." 

This  might  be  indifference  ;  it  sounded  to 
Eugene  very  like  pique. 

"  I  thought  you  might  know." 

"  Mr.  Lane,"  said  Claudia,  "  either  you 
mean  something  or  you  don't.  If  the  one, 
you're  taking  a  liberty,  and  one  entirely  with- 
out excuse ;  if  the  other,  you  are  simply 
tedious." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Eugene  stiffly. 

Claudia  gave  a  little  laugh, 

"Why  do  you  make  me  be  so  aggressive  ? 
I  don't  want  to  be.     Was  I  awfully  severe  ?  " 
"  Yes.  rather." 
f 


ng  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

"  I  meant  it,  you  know.  But  did  you  come 
quite  resolved  to  quarrel  ?  I  want  to  be 
pleasant."  And  Claudia  raised  her  eyes  with 
a  reproachful  glance. 

"  In  anger  or  otherwise,  you  are  always 
delightful,"  said  Eugene  politely. 

'*  I  accept  that  as  a  diplomatic  advance — 
not  in  its  literal  sense.  After  all,  I  must 
be  nice  to  you.  You're  all  alone  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Lady  Claudia,"  said  he  gravely,  "  either 
you  mean  something  or  you  do  not.  If  the 
one " 

"  Be  quiet  this  moment  !  "  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

He  obeyed  and  lay  back  in  his  low  chair 
with  a  sigh  of  content. 

"  Yes  ;  never  mind  Stafford  and  never  mind 
Kate.     Why  should  we  ?     They're  not  here." 

"  My  silence  is  not  to  be  taken  for  con- 
sent," said  Claudia,  "  only  it's  too  fine  a  day 
to  spend  in  trying  to  improve  you  or,  indeed, 
anybody  else.  But  I  shall  not  forget  any  of 
my  friends." 

Now  up  to  this  point  Eugene  had  behaved 
tolerably  well.  It  is,  however,  a  dangerous 
thing  to  set  yourself  deliberately  to  study  a 
lady's  attractions.  Like  all  other  one-sided 
views  of  a  subject,  it  is  apt  to  carry  you  too 
far.  The  sun  and  the  wind  were  playing 
about  in  Claudia's  hair,  her  eyes  were 
full  of  light,  and  her  whole  air,  in  spite  of  a 
genuine  effort  after  demureness,   conveyed  to 


A  MORNING'S  AMUSEMENT.  gg 

any  self-respecting  man  an  irresistible  chal- 
lenge to  make  himself  agreeable  if  he  could. 
Eugene's  notions  of  making  himself  agreeable 
were,  as  may  have  been  gathered,  liberal  ; 
they  certainly  included  more  than  can  be  con- 
sidered strictly  incumbent  on  young  men  in 
society.  And,  besides  being  polite,  Eugene 
was  also  curious.  It  is  one  thing  to  silently 
suffer  under  a  passion  which  a  sense  of  duty 
forbids  ;  such  a  position  has  its  pleasures. 
The  situation  is  altered  when  the  idea  dawns 
upon  you  that  there  is  no  reciprocity  of  grace- 
ful suffering  ;  that,  in  fact,  the  lady  may  pre- 
fer somebody  else.  Eugene  wanted  to  know 
where  he  stood. 

"Shall  you  be  sorry  to  leave  here  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  My  feelings  will  be  mixed.  You  see, 
Rickmansworth  has  actually  consented  to  take 
me  with  him  to  his  moor,  and  that  will  be 
great  fun." 

"  Why,  you  don't  go  killing  birds  ?  " 
"  No,  I  don't  kill  birds." 
"  There'll  be  only  a  pack  of  men  there." 
"  That's  all.     But  I  don't  mind  that — if  the 
scenery  is  good." 

"  I  believe  you're  trying  to  make  me  angry." 
"  Oh,    no  !     I    know    Sir    Roderick  doesn't 
let  you  be  angry.     It's  not  good  form." 
"  Have  you  no  heart,  Claudia  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know.     But  I  have  a  prefix." 
"  Have  you,  after  ten  years'  friendship  ?  " 
Claudia  laughed. 


1 00  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

"You  make  me  rather  old.  Were  we 
friends  when  I  was  ten  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother  dates  !  I  don't  count  by- 
time  ?  " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Lane,  if  you  were  anybody 
else  I  should  call  this  absurd.  It  would  be 
flattering  you  and  myself  to  call  it  wrong." 

"Why  ?" 

*'  Because  that  would  imply  you  were 
serious." 

"  Would  it  be  wrong  if  I  were  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  would  be  generally  considered  so, 
under  the  circumstances." 

"  I  don't  care  about  that.  I  have  endured 
it  long  enough.     Oh,  Claudia  !  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  thought  Claudia,  "  I  ought 
to  crush  him  at  this  point.  I  think  I'll  wait 
a  little  bit,  though." 

"  See  what  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Why,  that — that " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Hang  it  !  why  is  it  always  so  aDominably 
absurd  ?  Why,  that  I  love  the  ground  you 
tread  on,  Claudia  ?  Is  this  wretched  thing  to 
keep  us  apart  !  " 

"  Mr.  Lane,  you're  magnificent  ;  but  isn't 
there  a  trifling  assumption  in  your  last  re- 
mark ?  " 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  seemed — perhaps  you  didn't 
mean  it — to  imply  that  only  that  'wretched 
thing'  kept  us  apart.  That's  rather  taking 
me  for  granted,  isn't  it  ?  " 


A  MO R KING'S  AMUSEMENT.  IOI 

"  Ah!  you  know  I  didn't  mean  it.  But  if 
things  were  different,  could  you " 

'*  A  conditional  proposal  is  a  new  fashion. 
Is  that  one  of  Sir  Roderick's  ideas  ?  " 

Eugene  was  at  last  angry.  He  was  silent 
for  a  moment.     Then  he  said  : 

"  I  see.     I  must  congratulate  you." 

"On  what  ?  " 

"  On  having  bagged  a  brace —  without 
accident  to  yourself.  But  I  have  had  enough 
of  it." 

And  without  waiting  for  a  reply  to  this 
very  rude  speech,  he  rose  and  flung  himself 
across  the  lawn  into  the  house. 

Claudia  seemed  less  angry  than  she  ought 
to  have  been.  She  sat  with  a  little  smile  for 
a  moment,  then  she  threw  her  hat  in  the  air 
and  caught  it,  then  lay  back,  sighed  gently, 
and  murmured  : 

"  Heigho  !  a  brace  means  two,  doesn't  it  ? 
Who's  the  other  ?  Oh  !  Mr.  Haddington,  I 
suppose.  I  didn't  think  he  knew.  Poor 
Eugene  !  He's  very  angry,  or  he'd  never 
have  been  so  rude.     '  Bagged  a  brace  ! ' " 

And  she  actually  laughed  again,  and  then 
said  "  Heigho  !  "  again. 

Just  at  this  moment  Ayre  came  up  the 
drive,  looking  very  hot  and  very  disgusted. 
Seeing  Claudia,  he  came  and  sat  down. 

"  Bob's  rat-hunting's  a  mere  fraud,"  he  said. 
»  I  was  there  half  an  hour,  and  we  only  bagged 
a  brace." 


102 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


"  What  a  curious  coincidence  !  "  exclaimed 
Claudia. 

"  How  a  coincidence  !  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Bagging  a  brace  means 
killing  two,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

•'  Yes.     Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wanted  to  know." 

Ayre  looked  at  her. 

"  Where's  Eugene  ?  " 

"  He  was  here  just  now,  but  he's  gone  into 
the  house." 

Ayre  stroked  his  mustache  meditatively. 

"  Did  you  want  him  ?  " 

"  No,  not  particularly.  I  thought  I  should 
find  him  here." 

"  You  would  if  you'd  come  a  little  sooner." 

"  Ah  !  I'll  go  and  find  him." 

"Yes,  I  should." 

And  off  he  went. 

"  It  is  really  very  pleasant,"  said  Claudia, 
•'  to  prevent  Sir  Roderick  finding  out  things 
that  he  wants  to  find  out.  I  think  it  does  me 
credit — and  it  annoys  him  so  very  much.  I 
will  go  and  have  a  nice  drive  with  Mrs.  Lane, 
and  see  some  old  women.  I  feel  as  if  I  ought 
to  do  something  proper." 

And  perhaps  it  was  about  time. 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK. 


103 


CHAPTER    VIII 

StafforD  fn  IRetreat,  an<>  Sir  IRodertcfc  in. 
Bction. 

HEN  Stafford  got  into  the  train  on 
his  headlong  flight  from  Millstead 
Manor,  he  had  no  settled  idea  of 
his  destination,  and  he  arrived  in 
London  without  having  made  much  progress 
toward  a  resolution.  Not  knowing  what  he 
wanted,  he  could  not  decide  where  he  was  most 
likely  to  find  it.  Did  he  want  to  forget  or  to 
think  ;  to  repent  or  to  resolve  ?  This  is  the 
alternative  that  presents  itself  to  a  mind 
puzzled  to  know  whether  its  doubt  is  a  con- 
cession to  sin  or  a  homage  to  reason.  Stafford 
had  been  bred  in  a  school  widely  different 
from  that  which  treats  all  questions  as  open, 
and  all  to  be  referred  to  the  verdict  of  the 
balance  of  expediency.  Among  other  lessons, 
he  had  been  taught  a  deep  distrust  of  the 
instrument  by  which  he  was  forced  to  guide 
his  actions.  But  no  training  had  succeeded  in 
eradicating  a  strong  mind's  instinct  of  self- 
confidence,  and  if  up  till  now  he  had  committed 
no  rebellion,  itwas  because  his  reason  had  been 
rather  a  voluntary  and  eager  helper  than  a 


lo.  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

■captive  or  slave  to  the  tribunal  he  distinguished 
from  it  by  the  name  of  conscience.  With 
some  surprise  at  himself — a  surprise  that  now 
took  the  place  of  shame — he  recognized  that 
he  was  not  ready  to  take  everything  for 
granted,  that  he  must  know  that  what  he  was 
flying  from  was  in  fact  sin,  not  only  that  it 
might  be.  That  it  was  sin  he  fully  believed, 
but  he  would  be  sure.  So  much  triumph  his 
passion  extorted  from  him  as  he  paced  irres- 
olutely up  and  down  the  square  in  front  of 
Euston,  after  seeing  Kate  and  Haddington 
safely  away,  while  the  porter  and  cabman 
wondered  why  the  traveler  seemed  not  sure 
where  he  wanted  to  go.  Of  their  wonder  and 
their  irreverent  suggestions  he  was  supremely 
careless. 

No,  he  would  not  go  back  at  once  to  his 
active  work.  Not  only  did  his  health  still 
forbid  that — and,  indeed,  last  night's  struggle 
seemed  to  him  to  have  undone  most  of  the 
good  he  had  gained  from  the  quiet  of  Mill- 
stead — but,  what  was  more,  he  believed,  above 
all,  in  the  importance  of  the  state  of  the  pas- 
tor's own  soul,  and  was  convinced  that  his 
work  would  be  weak  and  futile  done  under 
such  conditions  ;  that  in  theological  language, 
there  would  be  no  blessing  on  it.  When  he 
had  once  reached  that  conclusion,  his  path 
was  plain  before  him.  He  would  go  to  the 
Retreat.  This  word  Retreat  has  become 
familiar  to  those  who  study  ecclesiastical 
items  in  the  paper.       But  the  Retreat  Stafford 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK. 


I°5 


had  in  his  mind  was  not  quite  of  the  common 
kind.  It  had  been  founded  by  one  of  the 
leaders  of  his  party,  and  was  intended  to 
serve  the  function  of  a  spiritual  casual  ward, 
whither  those  who  were  for  the  moment  at  a 
loss  might  resort  and  find  refuge  until  they 
had  time  to  turn  round.  It  was  not  a  per- 
manent home  for  any  one.  After  his  stay, 
the  visitor  returned  to  the  world  if  he  would  ; 
if  he  were  finally  disabled  he  was  passed  on  to 
a  permanent  residence  of  another  kind.  The 
Retreat  was  a  temporary  refuge  only.  Some- 
times it  was  full,  sometimes  it  was  empty  ; 
save  for  the  Superintendent,  as  he  was  called  ; 
for  religious  terms  were  avoided,  and  a  severe 
neutrality  of  description  forbade  the  possibility 
of  the  Retreat  itself  seeming  to  take  any  side 
in  the  various  mental  battles  for  which  it 
afforded  a  clear  field,  remote  from  interruption 
and  from  the  bias  alike  of  the  world  and  of 
previous  religious  prepossessions.  A  man  was 
entirely  left  to  himself  at  the  Retreat.  Save 
at  the  dinner  hour,  no  one  spoke  to  him 
except  the  Superintendent.  The  rule  of  his 
office  was  that  he  should  always  be  ready 
to  listen  on  all  subjects,  and  to  talk  on 
all  indifferent  subjects.  Advice  and  exhort- 
ation were  forbidden  to  him.  If  a  man 
wanted  the  ordinary  consolations  of  relig- 
ion, his  case  was  not  the  special  case  the 
Retreat  was  founded  to  meet.  When  nobody 
could  help  a  man,  and  nothing  was  left  for 
him  but  to  go  through  with  the  struggle  in  his 


10g  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

own  soul,  then  he  came  to  the  Retreat.  There 
he  stayed  till  he  reached  some  conclusion : 
that  is,  if  he  could  reach  one  within  a  reason- 
able time  ;  for  the  pretense  of  unconquerable 
hesitation  was  not  received.  When  he  ar- 
rived at  his  resolve,  he  went  away  :  what  the 
resolve  was,  and  where  he  was  going-,  whether 
to  High  or  Low,  to  Rome  or  Islington,  to 
Church  or  Dissent,  or  even  to  Mohammed  or 
Theosophy,  or  what  not,  or  nothing,  nobody 
asked.  Such  a  foundation  had  struck  many 
devoted  followers  of  the  Founder  as  little  bet- 
ter than  a  negation  or  an  abdication.  The 
Founder  thought  otherwise.  "  If  forms  and 
words  are  of  any  use  to  him,  a  man  will  never 
come,"  he  said  ;  "  if  he  comes,  let  him  alone." 
And  it  may  be  that  this  difference  between 
the  Founder  and  his  disciples  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  Founder  believed  that,  given  a 
fair  field  in  any  honest  mind,  his  views  must 
prevail,  whereas  the  disciples  were  not  so 
strong  in  faith. 

It  is  very  possible  the  disciples  were  right, 
in  a  way  ;  but  still  the  Founder's  scheme  now 
and  then  caught  a  great  prize  that  the  dis- 
ciples would  have  lost  through  their  over- 
great  meddling.  The  Founder  would  have 
repudiated  the  idea  of  differences  in  value  be- 
tween souls.  But  men  sometimes  act  on  ideas 
they  repudiate,  and  with  very  good  results. 

Whatever  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the  Re- 
treat might  be,  it  was  just  the  place  Stafford 
wanted.      He  shrank,   almost  with  loathing, 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.         10j 

from  the  thought  of  exposing  himself  to  well- 
meant  ministrations  from  men  who  were  his 
inferiors  :  the  theory  of  the  equalizing  effect  of 
the  sacred  office,  which  appears  to  be  held  in 
great  tranquillity  by  many  who  see  the  ab- 
surdity of  parallel  ideas  applied  in  other 
spheres,  was  one  of  the  fictions  that  proved 
entirely  powerless  over  his  mind  at  this  junct- 
ure. He  did  not  say  to  himself  that  fools 
were  fools  and  blind  men  blind,  whatever  their 
office,  degree,  or  profession,  but  he  was  driven 
to  the  Retreat  by  a  thought  that  a  brutal 
speaker  might  have  rendered  for  him  in  those 
words  without  essential  misrepresentation. 
Above  all,  he  wanted  quiet — time  to  under- 
stand the  new  forces  and  to  estimate  the  good 
or  evil  of  the  new  ideas. 

Arriving  there  late  in  the  evening  of  the 
same  day  on  which  he  left  Millstead,.  for  the 
Retreat  was  situated  on  the  borders  of  Ex- 
moor  and  the  journey  from  Paddington  was 
long  and  slow,  he  was  received  by  the  Super- 
intendent with  the  grave  welcome  and  studious 
absence  of  questioning  that  was  the  rule  of 
the  house.  The  Superintendent  was  an 
elderly  man,  inclining  to  stoutness  and  of  un- 
yielding placidity.  It  was  suspected  that  the 
Founder  had  taken  pains  to  choose  a  man 
who  would  observe  his  injunction  of  not 
meddling  with  thorny  questions  the  more 
strictly  from  his  own  inability  to  understand 
them. 

u  We  are  very  empty  just  now,"  he  said, 


10g  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

with  a  sigh.  Poor  man  !  perhaps  it  was  dull. 
"  Only  two,  besides  yourself." 

"The  fewer  the  better,"  said  Stafford,  with 
a  smile,  half  in  earnest,  half  humoring  the 
genius  of  the  place. 

The  Superintendent  looked  as  if  he  might 
have  said  something  on  the  other  side  but  re- 
frained, and,  without  more  ado,  made  Stafford 
at  home  in  the  bare  little  room  that  was  to 
serve  him  for  sleeping  and  living.  Stafford 
was  full  of  weariness,  and  sank  down  on  the 
bed  with  a  sense  of  momentary  respite.  He 
would  not  begin  to  think  till  to-morrow. 

Here  we  must  leave  him  to  wage  his  un- 
certain battle.  When  the  visible  and  the  in- 
visible meet  in  the  shock  of  strife  about  the 
soul  of  a  man,  who  may  describe  the  changes 
and  chances  of  the  fight  ?  In  the  peace  of  his 
chosen  solitude  would  he  re-conquer  the  vis- 
ion that  the  clouds  had  hidden  from  him  ?  Or 
would  the  allurements  of  his  earthly  love  be 
less  strong  because  its  dazzling  incitements 
were  no  longer  actually  before  his  eyes  ?  He 
had  refused  all  aid  and  all  alliance.  He  had 
chosen  to  try  the  issue  alone  and  unbefriended. 
Was  he  strong  enough  ? — strong  enough  to 
think  on  his  love,  and  yet  not  to  bow  to  it  ? — 
strong  enough  to  picture  to  himself  all  its 
charms,  only  to  refuse  to  gather  them  ? 
Should  he  not  have  seized  every  aid  that  coun- 
sel  and  authority  could  offer  him  ?  Would 
he  not  find  too  late  that  his  true  strategy  had 
been  to  fly,  and  not  to  challenge,  the  encoun- 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.  IOg 

ter  ?  He  haa  ianciea  he  could  be  himself  the 
Impartial  judgre  in  his  own  cause,  however 
vast  the  bribe  that  lay  ready  to  his  hand.  The 
issue  of  his  soiourn  alone  could  tell  whether 
he  had  misjudged  his  strength. 

While  Stafford  mused  and  strove  the  world 
moved  on,  and  with  it  that  small  fraction  of  it 
whose  movements  most  nearly  bore  on  the 
fortunes  of  the  recluse. 

The  party  at  Millstead  Manor  was  finally 
broken  up  by  the  departure  of  the  Territons 
and  of  Morewood  about  a  week  after  Stafford 
left.  The  cricKet-match  came  off  with  great 
eclat ;  in  spite  ol  a  steady  thirteen  from  the 
Rector,  who  spent  two  hours  in  "  compiling  " 
it — to  use  the  technical  term — and  of  several 
catches  missed  bv  Sir  Roderick,  who  was  tried 
in  vain  in  all  positions  in  the  field,  the  Manor 
team  won  by  five  wickets,  and  Bob  Territon 
felt  that  his  summer  had  been  well  spent. 
Ayre  lingered  on  with  Eugene,  shooting  the 
coverts  till  mid  September,  when  the  latter 
abruptly  and  perhaps  rudely  announced  that 
he  could  not  stand  it  any  longer,  and  straight- 
way took  himself  off  to  the  Continent,  sending 
a  line  to  Stafford  to  apprise  him  of  the  fact, 
and  another  to  Kate,  to  say  he  would  have  no 
address  for  the  next  month. 

For  a  moment  Sir  Roderick  was  at  a  loss. 
He  was  tired  of  shooting  ;  he  hated  yachting  ; 
the  ordinary  country-house  visit  was  nothing 
but  shooting  in  the  daytime  and  unmitigated 
boredom  in    the  evening.     Really    he    didn't 


I1Q  FA  THF.R  S  TA  FFORD, 

know  what  to  do  with  himself.  This  alarming' 
state  of  mind  might  have  issued  in  some  incon- 
gruous activity  of  a  useful  sort,  had  not  :,^ 
been  rescued  from  it  by  the  sudden  discovery 
that  he  had  a  mission.  This  revelation  dawned 
upon  hirn  in  consequence  of  a  note  he  receive*, 
from  Lord  Rickmansworth.  It  appeared  mat 
that  nobleman  had  very  soon  got  tired  of  nis 
moor,  had  resigned  it  into  the  eager  hands  01 
Bob  Territon,  and  was  now  at  Baden-Baden. 
This  was  certainly  odd,  and  the  writer  evi- 
dently knew  it  would  appear  so  ;  he  therefore 
appended  an  explanation  which  was  entirely 
satisfactory  to  Sir  Roderick,  but  which  is, 
happily,  irrelevant  to  the  purposes  of  this 
story.  What  is  more  to  the  purpose,  it  fui- 
ther  appeared  that  Mrs.  Welman,  Kate  Ber- 
nard's aunt,  had  discarded  Buxton  in  favor  01 
the  same  resort,  and  that  Mr.  Haddington. 
M.  P.,  had  also  *'  proceeded  "  thither. 

"They  are  at  the  Victoria,"  wrote  Rick- 
mansworth ;  "  I  am  at  the  Badischerhof,  ana 
—[irrelevant  matter].  I  go  about  a  good  deal 
with  them,  but  it's  beastly  slow.  Haddington 
is  all  day  in  Kate's  pocket,  and  Kate  at  best 
isn't  amusing.  But  what's  Lane  up  to  ?  Do 
come  out  here,  old  fellow.  I'll  find  you  some 
amusement.  Who  do  you  think  is  here  wim 
[more  irrelevant  matter]." 

Sir  Roderick  was  influenced  in  part,  no 
doubt,  by  the  irrelevant  matter.  But  he  also 
felt  that  what  concerns  us  concerned  him.  tie 
had  come  to  a  very  definite  conclusion  thai 


a 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.  XII 

Kate  Bernard  ought  not  to  marry  Eugene 
Lane.  He  was  also  sure  that  unless  something 
was  done  the  marriage  would  take  place. 
Kate  did  not  care  for  Eugene,  but  the  match 
was  too  good  to  be  given  up.  Eugene  would 
never  face  the  turmoil  necessary  to  break  it 
off. 

"  I  am  the  man,"  said  Sir  Roderick  to  him- 
self. "  I  couldn't  catch  the  parson,  but  if  I 
can't  catch  Miss  Kate,  call  me  an  ass  !  " 

And  he  took  train  to  Baden,  sending  off  a 
wire  to  Morewood  to  join  him  if  he  could,  for 
a  considerable  friendship  existed  between 
them.  Morewood,  however,  wouldn't  come, 
and  Ayre  was  forced  to  make  the  journey  in 
solitude. 

"  I  thought  I  should  bring  him  ! "  ex- 
claimed Lord  Rickmansworth  triumphantly, 
as  he  received  his  friend  on  the  platform, 
and  conducted  him  to  a  very  perfect  drag 
which  stood  at  the  door.  "  Oh,  you  old 
thief ! " 

Rickmansworth  was  a  tall,  broad,  reddish- 
faced  young  man,  with  a  jovial  laugh,  infinite 
capacity  for  being  amused  at  things  not  in- 
trinsically humorous,  and  manners  that  he  had 
tried,  fortunately  with  imperfect  success,  t» 
model  on  those  of  a  prize-fighter.  Ayre  liked 
him  for  what  he  was,  while  shuddering  at 
what  he  tried  to  be. 

••  I  didn't  come  on  that  account  at  all," 
he  said,  "  I  came  to  look  after  some  busU 
ness." 


112 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


"  Get  out  !  "  said  the  Earl  pleasantly  ;  "  do 
you  think  I  don't  know  you  ?  " 

Ayre  allowed  himself  to  yield  in  silence. 
His  motives  were  a  little  mixed  ;  and,  any- 
how, it  was  not  at  the  moment  desirable  to 
explain  them.     His  vindication  would  wait. 

In  the  afternoon  he  paid  his  call  on  Mrs. 
Welman.  She  was  delighted  to  see  him,  not 
only  as  a  man  of  social  repute,  but  also  be- 
cause the  good  lady  was  in  no  little  distress 
of  mind.  The  arrangement  between  Kate 
and  Eugene  was,  as  a  family  arrangement, 
above  perfection.  Mrs.  Welman  was  not  rich, 
and  like  people  who  are  not  rich,  she  highly 
esteemed  riches;  like  most  women,  she  looked 
with  favor  on  Eugene  ;  the  fact  of  Kate  having 
some  money  seemed  to  her,  as  it  does  to  most 
people,  a  reason  for  her  marrying  somebody 
who  had  more,  instead  of  aiding  in  the  be- 
neficent work  of  a  more  equal  distribution  of 
wealth.  But  Kate  was  undeniably  willful. 
She  treated  her  engagement,  indeed,  as  an 
absolutely  binding  and  unbreakable  tie — a 
fact  so  conclusively  accomplished  that  it  could 
almost  be  ignored.  But  she  received  any  sug- 
gestion of  a  possible  excess  in  her  gracious- 
ness  toward  Haddington  and  her  acceptance 
of  his  society,  as  at  once  a  folly  and  an  insult  ; 
and  as  she  was  of  age  and  paid  half  the  bills, 
all  means  of  suasion  were  conspicuously  lack- 
ing. Mrs.  Welman  was  in  a  position  exactly 
the  reverse  of  the  pleasant  one  ;  she  had 
responsibility  without  power.     It  is  true  her 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.  IT^ 

responsibility  was  mainly  a  figment  of  her  own 
brain,  but  its  burden  upon  her  was  none  the 
less  heavy  for  that. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Ayre's  dealings 
with  her  were  wanting  in  candor.  Under 
the  guise  of  family  friendship,  he  led  her  on 
to  open  her  mind  to  him.  He  extracted  from 
her  detailed  accounts  of  long  excursions  into 
the  outskirts  of  the  forest,  of  numberless 
walks  in  the  shady  paths,  of  an  expedition  to 
the  races  (where  perfect  solitude  can  always 
be  obtained),  and  of  many  other  diversions 
which  Kate  and  Haddington  had  enjoyed  to- 
gether, while  she  was  left  to  knit  "  clouds  " 
and  chew  reflections  in  the  Kurhaus  garden. 
All  this,  Ayre  recognized,  with  lively  but  sup- 
pressed satisfaction,  was  not  as  it  shouid  be. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  Kate,"  she  concluded, 
"  but  she  takes  no  notice  ;  will  you  do  me  a 
service  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Ayre  ;   "  anything  I  can." 

"  Will  you  speak  to  Mr.  Haddington  ?  " 

This  by  no  means  suited  Ayre's  book. 
Moreover,  it  would  very  likely  expose  him 
to  a  snub,  and  he  had  no  fancy  for  being 
snubbed  by  a  man  like  Haddington. 

"  I  can  hardly  do  that.  I  have  no  position. 
I'm  not  her  father,  or  uncle,  or  anything  of 
that  sort." 

"  You  might  influence  him." 

«'  No,  he'd  tell  me  to  mind  my  own  busi- 
ness. To  speak  plainly,  my  dear  lady,  it  isn't 
as  if  Kate  couldn't  take  care  of  herself.     She 


j  j  .  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

could  stop  his  attentions  to-morrow  if  she 
liked.     Isn't  it  so  ?  " 

Mrs.  Welman  sadly  admitted  it  was. 

"  The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  keep  an  eye 
on  them,  and  act  as  I  think  best  ;  that  I  will 
gladly  do." 

And  with  this  very  ambiguous  promise  poor 
Mrs.  Welman  was  forced  to  be  content.  What- 
ever his  inward  view  of  his  own  meaning  was, 
Ayre  certainly  fulfilled  to  the  letter  his  promise 
of  keeping  an  eye  on  them.  Kate  was  at  first 
much  annoyed  at  his  appearance  ;  she  thought 
she  saw  in  him  an  emissary  of  Eugene.  Sir 
Roderick  tactfully  disabused  her  mind  of  this 
notion,  and,  without  intruding  himself,  he  man- 
aged to  be  with  them  a  good  deal,  and  with 
Haddington  alone  a  good  deal  more.  More- 
over, even  when  absent,  he  could  generally 
have  given  a  shrewd  guess  where  they  were 
and  what  they  were  doing.  Without  alto- 
gether neglecting  the  other  claims  at  which 
Rickmansworth  had  hinted,  and  which  re- 
solved themselves  into  a  long-standing  and 
entirely  platonic  attachment,  he  yet  devoted 
himself  with  zest  and  assiduity  to  his  self-im- 
posed task. 

In  its  prosecution  he  contrived  to  make  use 
of  Rickmansworth  to  some  extent.  The  young 
man  was  a  hospitable  soul,  delighting  in  par- 
ties and  picnics.  Only  consent  to  sit  with  him 
on  his  four-in-hand  and  let  him  drive  you,  and 
he  cheerfully  feasted  you  and  all  your  friends. 
His  acquaintance  was  large,  and  not,  perhaps, 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.  IIr 

very  select.  But  Ayre  insisted  on  the  proper 
distinctions  being  observed,  and  was  indebted 
to  Rickmansworth's  parties  for  many  oppor- 
tunities of  observation.  He  was  sure  Had- 
dington meant  to  marry  Kate  if  he  could  ;  the 
scruples  which  had  in  some  degree  restrained 
his  actions,  though  not  his  designs,  at  Mill- 
stead,  had  vanished,  and  he  was  pushing  his 
suit,  firmly  and  daringly  ignoring  the  fact  of 
the  engagement.  Kate  did  nothing  to  remind 
him  of  it  that  Ayre  could  see,  but  her  be- 
havior, on  the  other  hand,  convinced  him  that 
Haddington  was  to  her  only  a  second  string, 
and  that,  unless  compelled,  she  would  not  let 
Eugene  go.  She  took  occasion  more  than 
once  to  show  him  that  she  regarded  her  rela- 
tion to  Eugene  as  fully  existent.  No  doubt  she 
thought  there  was  a  chance  that  such  words 
might  find  their  way  to  Eugene's  ears.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say  they  did  not. 

Watch  as  he  might  Ayre's  chance  was  slow 
in  coming.  He  knew  very  well  that  the  fact 
of  a  young  lady,  deserted  by  him  who  ought 
to  have  been  in  attendance,  consoling  herself 
with  a  flirtation  with  somebody  else,  was  not 
enough  for  him  to  go  upon.  He  must  have 
something  more  tangible  than  that.  He  did 
not,  indeed,  look  for  anything  that  would 
compel  Eugene  to  act ;  he  had  no  expectation 
and,  to  do  him  justice,  no  hope  of  that,  for  he 
knew  Eugene  would  act  on  nothing  but  an  ex- 
treme necessity.  His  hope  lay  in  Kate  her- 
self.    On  her  he  was  prepared  to  have  small 


j  j  6  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

mercy  ;  against  her  he  felt  justified  in  playing 
the  very  rigor  of  the  game.  But  for  a  long 
while  he  had  no  opportunity  of  beginning  the 
rubber.  A  fortnight  wore  away,  and  nothing 
was  done.  Ayre  determined  to  wait  on  events 
no  longer  ;  he  would  try  his  hand  at  shaping 
them. 

"  I  wonder  if  Rick  is  too  great  a  fool  ?  "  he 
said  to  himself  meditatively  one  morning,  as 
he  crossed  one  of  the  little  bridges,  and  took 
his  way  to  the  Kurhaus  in  search  of  his  friend. 
"  I  must  try  him." 

He  found  Lord  Rickmansworth  alone,  but 
quite  content.  It  was  one  of  his  happy 
characteristics  that  he  existed  with  delight 
under  almost  any  circumstances.  One  of  his 
team  was  lame,  and  a  great  friend  of  his  was 
sulky  and  had  sent  him  away,  and  yet  he  sat 
radiantly  cheerful,  with  a  large  cigar  in  his 
mouth  and  a  small  terrier  by  his  side,  sub- 
jecting every  lady  who  passed  to  a  respectful 
and  covert  but  none  the  less  searching  and 
severe  examination. 

"  I  say,  Rick,  have  you  seen  Haddington 
lately  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he's  gone  down  the  road  with  Kate 
Bernard  to  play  tennis,  or  some  such  foolery." 

"  With  Kate  ?  " 

"Rather!  Didn't  expect  anything  else,  did 
you  ? " 

"  Does  he  mean  to  marry  that  girl  ?  "  asked 
Ayre,  with  a  face  of  great  innocence,  much  as 
if  it  had  just  occurred  to  him. 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK:  ny 

"  Well,  he  can't,  unless  she  chucks  old 
Eugene  over." 

"  Will  she,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  afraid  not.  I've  got  some 
money  on  that  they're  never  married,  but  I 
don't  see  my  way  to  handling  it." 

"  Much  ? " 

"Well,  no  ;  about  twopence-halfpenny — a 
fancy  bet." 

"  I'm  glad  it's  nothing,  because  I  want  you 
to  help  me,  and  you  couldn't  have  if  you  had 
anything  on  ;  besides,  you  shouldn't  bet  on 
such  things." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  meddle  with  the 
thing.  It's  enough  work  to  prevent  one's  self 
getting  married,  without  troubling  about  other 
people.  But  I  rather  like  you  telling  me  not 
to  bet  on  it  !  " 

"  She  wouldn't  suit  Eugene." 

"  No  ;  lead  him  the  devil  of  a  life." 

"  She  don't  care  for  him." 

"  Not  a  straw." 

"  Then,  why  don't  she  break  it  off?  " 

"  Ah,  you  innocent  ?  "  said  Rickmansworth, 
with  a  broad  grin.  '*  Never  heard  of  such  a 
thing  as  money  in  the  case,  did  you  ?  Where 
have  you  been  these  last  hve-and-forty 
years  ? " 

"  Your  raillery's  a  little  fatiguing,  Rick, 
if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so." 

"  Say  anything  you  like,  old  chap,  as  long 
as  it  isn't  swearing.  That's  verbot  here — ■ 
penalty   one    mark — see    regulations,      You 


US  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

must  go  outside,  if  you  want  to  curse,  barring 
of  course  you're  a  millionaire  and  like  to 
make  a  splash." 

"  Rick,  Rick,  you  do  not  amuse  me.  I  do 
not  belong  to  the  Albatross  Club." 

"No;  over  age,"  replied  his  companion 
blandly,  and  chuckled  violently. 

"  I  like  to  score  off  old  Ayre,  you  know," 
he  said,  in  reporting  the  episode  afterward. 
"He  thinks  himself  smart." 

'«  But  look  here.  I  want  you  to  do  this  : 
you  go  to  Haddington  and  stir  him  up  ;  tell 
him  to  bustle  along  ;  tell  him  Kate  is  fooling 
him,  and  make  him  put  it  to  her — yes  or  no." 

"  Why  ?  it's  not  my  funeral  !  " 

"Is  that  your  latest  American?  I  wish 
you'd  find  native  slang  ;  we  used  in  my  day  ; 
but  I'll  tell  you  why.  It's  because  she's 
keeping  him  on  till  she  sees  what  Eugene'll 
do.     She's  treating  Eugene  shamefully." 

"  Oh,  stow  all  that !  Eugene  is  not  so 
remarkably  strict,  you  know."  And  Lord 
Rickmansworth  winked. 

"  Well,  we'll  leave  that  out,"  said  Ayre 
smiling.  "Tell  him  it's  treating  hi?n  shame- 
fully." 

"That's  more  the  ticket.  But  what  if  she 
says  *  No  '  ?  " 

"  If  she  says  •  No  '  right  out,  I'm  done,"  said 
Ayre.     "  But  will  she  ?  " 

"The  devil  only  knows  !  "  said  Lord  Rick« 
mansworth. 

"  Do  you  think  you  won't  bungle  it  ?  " 


S  TA  FFORD  A  ND  SIR  R  ODE  RICK,  j  j  g 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  an  ass  ?  I'll  make 
him  move,  Ayre  ;  he  shall  give  her  a  chaste 
salute  before  the  day's  out.  Old  Eugene's  no 
better  than  he  should  be,  but  I'll  see  him 
through." 

Ayre  thought  privately  that  his  companion 
had  perhaps  other  motives  than  love  for 
Eugene :  perhaps  family  feelings,  generally 
dormant,  had  asserted  themselves  ;  but  he 
had  the  wisdom  not  to  hint  at  this. 

"  If  you  can  frighten  him,  he'll  press  it 
on." 

"  Do  you  think  I  might  lie  a  bit  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  lie.  It's  awkward.  Be- 
sides, you  know  you  wouldn't  do  it,  and  you 
couldn't  if  you  tried." 

"  I'll  stir  him  up,"  reiterated  Rickmans- 
worth.  "  Give  me  my  prayer-book  and 
parasol,  and  I'll  go  and  find  him." 

Ayre  ignored  what  he  supposed  to  be  the 
joke  buried  in  this  saying,  and  saw  his  friend 
off  on  his  errand,  repeating  his  instructions  as 
he  went. 

What  Lord  Rickmansworth  said  to  Mr. 
Haddington  has  never,  as  the  newspapers  put 
it,  transpired.  But  ever  since  that  date  Sir 
Roderick  has  always  declared  that  Rick  is  not 
such  a  fool  as  he  looks.  Certainly  the  envoy 
was  well  pleased  with  himself  when  he  re- 
joined his  companion  at  dinner,  and  after 
imbibing  a  full  glass  of  champagne,  said  : 

"To-night,  my  worthy  old  friend,  you  will 
see." 


j  2  0  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

'•  Did  he  bite  ?  " 

"  He  bit.  That  fellow's  no  fool.  He  saw 
Kate's  game  when  I  pointed  it  out." 

*'  Will  he  stand  up  to  her  ?  " 

"Rather!  going  to  hold  a  pistol  to  her 
head." 

"  I  wonder  what  she'll  say  ?  " 

"  That's  your  lookout.  I've  done  my 
stage." 

Ayre  was  nearer  excitement  than  he  had 
been  for  a  long  while.  After  dinner  he  could 
not  rest.  Refusing  to  accompany  Rickmans- 
worth  to  the  entertainment  the  latter  was 
bound  for,  he  strolled  out  into  the  quiet  walks 
outside  the  Kurhaus,  which  were  deserted 
by  visitors  and  peopled  only  by  a  few  frugal 
natives,  who  saved  their  money  and  took  the 
music  of  the  band  from  a  cheap  distance.  But 
surely  some  power  was  fighting  for  him,  for 
before  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  he  saw 
on  one  of  the  seats  in  front  of  him  two  persons 
whom  the  light  of  the  moon  clearly  displayed 
as  Kate  and  Haddington.  At  Baden  there  is 
a  little  hillside — one  path  runs  at  the  bottom, 
another  runs  along  the  side  of  the  hill,  half- 
way up.  Ayre  hastily  diverted  his  steps  into 
the  upper  path.  A  minute's  walk  brought 
him  directly  behind  the  pair.  Trees  hid  him 
from  them  ;  a  seat  invited  him.  For  a 
moment  he  struggled.  Then,  rubesco  re- 
ferens,  he  sat  down  and  deliberately  listened. 
With  the  sophisms  by  which  he  sought  to 
justify  this  action,  we   have   no  concern  ;  per- 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.         I2i 

haps  he  was  not  in  reality  much  concerned 
about  them.  But  what  he  heard  had  its 
importance. 

"  I  have  been  more  patient  than  most  men," 
Haddington  was  saying. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  speak  in  that  way," 
Kate  protested  ;   "  it's— it's  not  respectful." 

"  Kate,  have  we  not  got  beyond  respect  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Sir  Roderick  to  him- 
self. 

"  I  mean,"  Haddington  went  on,  "  there  is 
a  point  at  which  you  must  face  realities. 
Kate,  do  you  love  me  ? " 

Ayre  leant  forward  and  peered  through  the 
bushes. 

"  I  will  not  break  my  engagement." 

"  That  is  no  answer." 

"  I  can't  help  it.     I  have  been  taught " 

"  Oh,  taught  !  Kate,  you  know  Lane  ; 
you  know  what  he  is.  You  saw  him  with 
Lady " 

"  You're  very  unkind." 

«•  And  for  his  sake  you  throw  away  what  I 
offer  ?  " 

"  Won't  you  be  patient  ?  " 

•«  Ah,  you  admit " 

"  No,  I  don't !  " 

«« But  you  can't  deny  it.  Now  you  make 
me  happy." 

The  conversation  here  became  so  low  in 
tone  that  Ayre,  to  his  vast  disgust,  was  un- 
able to  overhear  it.  The  next  words  that 
reached  his  ear  came  again  from  Haddington. 


122 


FA  THER  STAFFORD. 


"  Well,  I  will  wait — I  will  wait  three 
months.  If  nothing  happens  then,  you  will 
break  it  off? " 

A  gentle  "  Yes  "  floated  up  to  the  eaves- 
dropper. 

"  Though  why  you  want  him  to  break  it  off 
rather  than  yourself,  I  don't  know." 

"He  doesn't  appreciate  her  morality,"  re- 
flected Ayre,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Kate,  we  are  promised  to  one  another  ? 
secretly,  if  you  like,  but  promised  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  very  wrong." 

"  Why,  he  deliberately  insulted  you  !  " 

The  tones  again  became  inaudible ;  but 
after  a  pause  there  came  a  sound  that  made 
Ayre  almost  jump. 

"By  Jove!"  he  whispered  in  his  excite- 
ment. "  Confound  these  trees  !  Was  it  only 
her  hand,  or " 

"  Then  I  have  your  promise,  dear  ?  " 

"Yes;  in  three  months.  But  I  must  go 
in.     Aunt  will  be  angry." 

"  You  won't  let  him  win  you  over  ?  " 

"  He  has  treated  me  badly  ;  but  I  don't 
want  it  said  I  jilted  him." 

They  had  risen  by  now. 

"You  ask  such  a  lot  of  me,"  said  Hadding- 
ton. 

"  Ah  !  I  thought  you  said  you  loved  me. 
Can't  you  wait  three  months  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  must.  But,  Kate,  you  are 
sincere  with  me  ?     Tell  me  you  love  me." 

Again     Ayre    leant    forward.     They     had 


STAFFORD  AND  SIR  RODERICK.  I2, 

begun  to  walk  away,  but  now  Haddington 
stopped,  and  laying  his  hand  on  Kate's  arm, 
detained  her.  "Say  you  love  me,"  he  said 
again. 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  !  "  said  Kate,  with  com- 
mendable confusion,  and  they  resumed  their 
walk. 

"  What  is  her  game  ?  "  Ayre  asked  himself. 
"  If  she  means  to  throw  Eugene  over,  why 
doesn't  she  do  it  right  out  ?  I  don't  believe 
she  does.  She's  afraid  he'll  throw  her  over. 
And,  by  Jove  !  she  fobbed  that  fool  off  again  ! 
We're  no  further  forward  than  we  were.  If 
he  makes  trouble  about  this  she'll  deny  the 
whole  thing.  Miss  Bernard  is  a  lady  of 
talent.  But — no,  can  I  ?  Yes,  I  will.  Rather 
than  let  her  win,  I'll  step  in.  I'll  go  and  see 
her  to-morrow.  We  shall  neither  of  us  be  in 
a  position  to  reproach  the  other.  But  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do.  But  Haddington  !  To  think 
she  should  get  round  him  again  i " 


124 


FATHER  STAFFORD, 


CHAPTER  IX. 
Gbe  JBattle  of  JSaoen. 

ORD  RICKMANSWORTH  was  en- 
joying  himself.  Over  and  above  the 
$  particular  pleasures  for  whose  sake 
he  had  come  to  Baden,  he  relished 
intensely  the  new  attitude  in  which  he  found 
himself  standing  toward  Ayre.  Throughout 
their  previous  acquaintance  it  had  been  Rick- 
mansworth  who  was  eager  and  excited,  Ayre 
who  applied  the  cold  water.  Now  the  parts 
were  reversed,  and  the  younger  man  found 
great  solace  in  jocosely  rallying  his  senior 
on  his  unwonted  zeal  and  activity.  Ayre 
accepted  his  friend's  jocosity  and  his  own 
excitement  with  equal  placidity.  Reproaches 
had  never  stirred  him  to  exertion  ;  ridicule 
would  not  stop  him  now.  He  took  leave  to 
add  himself  to  the  materials  for  slightly  con- 
temptuous amusement  that  the  world  had 
hitherto  afforded  him,  and  he  found  his  owri 
absurd  actions  a  very  sensible  addition  to  his 
resources.  He  realized  why  people  who  never 
act  on  impulse  and  never  do  uncalled-for 
things  are  not  only  dull  to  others,  but  suffer 
boredom  themselves.     However  the  Millstead 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BADEN.  l2e 

love-affairs  affected  the  principal  actors,  there 
can  be  no  question  that  they  relieved  Sir  Rod- 
erick Ayre  from  ennui  for  a  considerable 
number  of  months  and  exercised  a  very  whole- 
some effect  on  a  man  who  had  come  to  take 
pride  in  his  own  miserable  incapacity  for  hon- 
est emotion. 

He  rose  the  next  morning  as  nearly  with 
the  lark  as  could  reasonably  be  expected  ; 
more  nearly  with  the  lark  than  the  domestic 
staff  of  the  Badischerhof  at  all  approved  of. 
Was  not  Kate  Bernard  in  the  habit  of  taking 
the  waters  at  half-past  seven  ?  And  in  sol- 
itude ?  For  Haddington's  devotion  was  not 
allowed  by  him  to  interfere  with  that  early 
ride  which  is  so  often  a  mark  of  legislators, 
and  an  assertion,  I  suppose,  of  the  strain  on 
their  minds  that  might  be  ignored  or  doubted 
if  not  backed  up  by  some  such  evidence.  The 
strain,  of  course,  followed  Haddington  to 
Baden  ;  it  was  among  his  most  precious  ap- 
purtenances ;  and  Ayre,  relying  upon  it,  had 
little  doubt  that  he  could  succeed  in  finding 
Kate  alone  and  unprotected. 

He  was  not  deceived.  He  found  Kate  just 
disposing  of  her  draught,  and  an  offer  of  his 
company  for  a  stroll  was  accepted  with  toler- 
able graciousness.  Kate  distrusted  him,  but 
she  thought  there  was  use  in  keeping  on  out- 
wardly good  terms  ;  and  she  had  no  suspicion 
of  his  shameless  conduct  the  night  before. 
Ayre  directed  their  walk  to  the  very  same  seat 
on  which  she  and  Haddington  had  sat.     As 


j  2  6  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

they  passed,  either  romance  or  laziness  sug- 
gested to  Kate  that  they  should  sit  down. 
Ayre  accepted  her  proposal  without  demur, 
asked  and  obtained  leave  for  a  cigarette, 
and  sat  for  a  few  moments  in  apparent  ease 
and  vacancy  of  mind.  He  was  thinking  how 
to  begin. 

•*  Ought  one  ever  to  do  evil  that  good  may 
come  ?  "  he  did  begin,  a  long  way  off. 

"  Dear  me,  Sir  Roderick,  what  a  curious 
question  !     I  suppose  not." 

"  I'm  sorry  ;  because  I  did  evil  last  night, 
and  I  want  to  confess." 

"  I  really  don't  want  to  hear,"  said  Kate,  in 
some  alarm.  There's  no  telling  what  men 
will  say  when  they  become  confidential,  and 
Kate's  propriety  was  a  tender  plant. 

"  It  concerns  you." 

«'  Me  ?     Nonsense  !     How  can  it  ?  " 

"  In  order  to  serve  a  friend,  I  did  a — well 
— a  doubtful  thing." 

Kate  was  puzzled. 

"You  are  in  a  curious  mood,  Sir  Roderick. 
Do  you  often  ask  moral  counsel  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  it.  I  am,  with 
your  kind  permission,  going  to  offer  it." 

"  You  are  going  to  offer  me  moral  coun- 
sel ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  taking  that  liberty.  You 
.see,  we  are  old  friends." 

«•  We  have  known  one  another  some  time.,p 

Ayre  smiled  at  the  implied  correction. 

•«  Do  you  object  to  plain  speaking  ?  " 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BADEN.  12'J 

"That  depends  on  the  speaker.  If  he  has 
a  right,  no  ;  if  not,  yes." 

"  You  mean  I  should  have  no  right  ?  " 
"  I  certainly  don't  see  on  what  ground." 
"If  not  an  old  friend    of  yours,    as    I   had 
hoped    to  be  allowed   to  rank   myself,   I  am, 
anyhow,  a  very  old  friend  of  Eugene's." 
"  What  has  Mr.  Lane  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

«'  As  an  old  friend  of  his. " 

"Excuse  me,  Sir  Roderick;  you  seem  to 
forget  that  Mr.  Lane  is  even  more  chan  an 
old  friend  to  me." 

"He  should  be,  no  doubt,"  said  Ayre 
blandly. 

«  I  shall  not  listen  to  this.  No  old  friend- 
ship excuses  impertinence,  Sir  Roderick." 

•'  Pray  don't  be  angry.  I  have  really  some- 
thing to  say,  and — pardon  me — you  must  hear 
it." 

"And  what  if  I  refuse  ?  " 
"  True  ;  I  did  wrong  to  say   '  must.'     You 
are   at  perfect  liberty.     Only,   if  you  refuse, 
Eugene  must  hear  it." 

Kate  paused.  Then,  with  a  laugh,  she 
said  : 

"  Perhaps  I  am  taking  it  too  gravely.  What 
is  this  great  thing  I  must  hear  ?  " 

«•  Ah  !  I  hoped  we  could  settle  it  amicably. 
It's  merely  this  :  you  must  release  Eugene 
from  his  engagement." 

Kate  did  not  trouble  to  affect  surprise.  She 
knew  it  would  be  useless. 

"  Did  he  send  you  to  tell  me  this  ?  " 


I2g  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"You  know  he  didn't." 

"  Then  whose  envoy  are  you  ?  Ah  !  per- 
haps you  are  Claudia  Territon's  chosen 
knight  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Ayre,  still  unruffled. 
"  I  have  had  no  communication  with  Lady 
Claudia — a  fact  of  which  you  have  no  right  to 
affect  doubt." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  you  must  release  Eugene." 

"  Pray  tell  me  why,"  asked  she  calmly,  but 
with  a  calm  only  obtained  after  effort. 

"  Because  it  is  not  usual — and  in  this  mat- 
ter it  seems  to  me  usage  is  right — it  is  not 
usual  for  a  young  lady  to  be  engaged  to  two 
men  at  once." 

"  You  are  merely  insolent.  I  will  wish  you 
good-morning." 

"I  am  glad  you  understand  my  insinuation. 
Explanations  are  so  tedious.  Where  are  you 
going,  Miss  Bernard  ?  " 

"  Home." 

"  Then  I  must  tell  Eugene  ?  " 

"Tell  him  what  you  like."  But  she  sat 
down  again. 

"  You  are  engaged  to  Eugene  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"You  are  also  engaged  to  Spencer  Had- 
dington. 

"  It's  untrue  ;  you  know  it's  untrue.  Are 
you  an  old  woman,  to  think  a  girl  can't  speak 
to  a  man  without  being  engaged  to  him  ?" 

"  I  must  congratulate  you  on  your  liberality 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BADEN.  l2g 

of  view,  Miss  Bernard.  I  had  hardly  given 
you  credit  for  it.  But  you  know  it  isn't  un- 
true. You  are  under  a  promise  to  give  Had- 
dington your  hand  in  three  months  :  not,  mark 
you,  a  conditional  promise — an  absolute 
promise." 

"That  is  not  a  happy  guess." 
"  It's   not   a   guess  at   all.     No  doub*  you 
mean  it  to  be  conditional.     He   understood, 
and  you  meant  him  to  understand,   it  as  an 
absolute  promise." 

"  How     dare     you     accuse     me    of    such 
things  ?  " 

"  Nothing    short    of    absolute    knowledge 
would  so  far  embolden  me." 

"  Absolute  knowledge  ?  " 

"  Yes,  last  night." 

Kate's  rage  carried  her  away.     She  turned 
on  him  in  fury. 

"  You  listened  !  " 

'*  Yes,  I  listened." 

"  Is  that  what  a  gentleman  does  ?  " 

"  As  a  rule,  it  is  not." 

"  I  despise  you  for  a  mean  dastard  !     I  have 
no  more  to  say  to  you." 

"  Come,    Miss  Bernard,  let   us  be   reason- 
able.    We  are  neither  of  us  blameless." 

"  Do  you  think  Eugene  would  listen  to  such 
a  tale  ?     And  such  a  person  ?  " 

"  He  might  and   he  might  not.     But  Had- 
dington would." 

"  What  could  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  could  tell  him  that  you're  making  a  fool 

9 


!  n  0  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

of  him — keeping  him  dangling  on  till  you  have 
arranged  the  other  affair  one  way  or  the  other. 
What  would  he  say  then  ?  " 

Kate  knew  that  Haddington  was  already 
tried  to  the  uttermost.  She  knew  what  he 
would  say. 

"  You  see  I  could — if  you'll  allow  me  the 
metaphor— blow  you  out  of  the  water." 

"  You  daren't  confess  how  you  got  the 
knowledge." 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  yes,"  said  Ayre,  smiling. 
"  When  you're  opening  a  blind  man's  eyes  he 
doesn't  ask  after  your  moral  character.  You 
must  consider  the  situation  on  the  hypothesis 
that  I  am  shameless." 

Kate  was  not  strong  enough  to  carry  on  the 
battle.  She  had  fury,  but  not  doggedness. 
She  burst  into  tears. 

"  If  I  were  doing  all  you  say,  whose  fault 
was  it  ?  "  she  sobbed.  "  Didn't  Eugene  treat 
me  shamefully  ?  " 

"  If  he  flirted  a  little,  it  was  in  part  your 
fault.  If  you  had  flirted  a  little  with  Had- 
dington, I  should  have  said  nothing.  But 
this — well,  this  is  a  little  strong." 

"  I  am  a  very  unhappy  girl,"  said  Kate. 

"  It  isn't  as  if  you  cared  twopence  for 
Eugene,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  hate  him  !  "  said  Kate,  unwisely 
yielding  to  anger  again. 

"  I  thought  so.  And  you  will  do  what  I 
ask  ?  " 

"  If  I  don't,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BADEN.  j,j 

'*  I  shall  write  to  Eugene.  I  shall  see  Had- 
dington ;  and  I  shall  see  your  aunt.  I  shall 
tell  them  all  that  I  know,  and  how  I  know  it. 
Come,  Miss  Bernard,  don't  be  foolish.  You 
had  better  take  Haddington." 

"  I  know  it's  all  a  plot.  You're  all  fighting 
in  that  little  creature's  interest." 

"  Meaning ■  ?  " 

"  Claudia  Territon.  But  if  I  can  help  it, 
Eugene  shall  never  marry  her." 

"That's  another  point." 

"  His  friend  Father  Stafford  will  have  to 
be  considered  there." 

"  Do  not  let  us  drift  into  that.  Will  you 
write  ?  " 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"  To  Eugene." 

Kate  looked  at  him  with  a  healthy  hatred. 

"  And  you  will  tell  Haddington  he  needn't 
wait  those  three  months  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you're  proud  of  yourself  now  !  " 
she  broke  out.  "First  eavesdropping,  and 
then  bullying  a  girl  !  " 

"  I'm  not  at  all  proud  of  myself,  and  I  am, 
if  you'd  believe  it,  rather  sorry  for  you." 

"  I  shall  take  care  to  let  your  friends  know 
my  opinion  of  you." 

"Certainly — with  any  details  you  think  ad- 
visable. Have  I  your  promise  ?  Is  it  any 
use  struggling  any  longer  ?  This  scene  is  so 
very  unpleasant." 

"  Won't  you  give  me  a  week  ?  " 

«'  Not  a  day  !  " 


,  ,  2  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

Kate  drew  herself  up  with  a  sort  of  dignity. 

"  I  despise  you  and  your  schemes,  and 
Eugene  Lane,  and  Claudia  Territon,  and  all 
your  crew  !  "  she  allowed  herself  to  say. 

"  But  you  promise  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  I  promise.  There  !  Now,  may  I 
go?" 

Ayre  courteously  took  off  his  hat,  and  stood 
on  one  side,  holding  it  in  his  hand  and  bow- 
ing slightly  as  she  swept  indignantly  by  him. 

"  I'll  give  her  a  day  to  tell  Haddington,  and 
three  days  to  tell  Eugene.  Unless  she  does, 
I  must  go  through  it  all  again,  and  it's  dam- 
nably fatiguing.  She's  not  a  bad  sort — fought 
well  when  she  was  cornered.  But  I  couldn't 
let  Eugene  do  it — I  really  couldn't.  Ugh  ! 
I'll  go  back  to  breakfast." 

Kate  was  cowed.  She  told  Haddington. 
Let  us  pass  over  that  scene.  She  also  wrote 
to  Eugene,  addressing  the  letter  to  Millstead 
Manor.  Eugene  was  not  at  Millstead  Manor  ; 
and  if  Ayre  had  hastily  assumed  that  his 
fiancee  would  be  in  possession  of  his  address, 
was  it  her  business  to  undeceive  him  ?  She 
was  by  no  means  inclined  to  do  one  jot  more 
than  fulfill  the  letter  of  her  bond— whereby  it 
came  to  pass  that  Eugene  did  not  receive  the 
letter  for  nearly  two  months  and  did  not 
know  of  his  recovered  liberty  all  that  time. 
For  Haddington,  in  his  joy,  easily  promised 
silence  for  a  little  while  ;  it  seemed  only 
decent ;  and  even  Ayre  could  not  refuse  to 
agree  with  him  that,  though  Eugene  must  be 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BADEN.  j  33 

told,  nobody  else  ought  to  be  until  Eugene 
had  formally  signified  his  assent  to  the  lady's 
transfer.  Ayre  could  not  take  upon  himself, 
on  his  triend's  behalf,  the  responsibility  of 
dispensing  with  this  ceremony,  though  he  was 
sure  it  would  be  a  mere  ceremony. 

As  for  Ayre  himself,  when  his  task  was 
done  he  straightway  fled  from  Baden.  He 
was  a  hardened  sinner,  but  he  could  not  face 
Mrs.  Welman. 

It  was,  however,  plainly  impossible  to  confine 
the  secret  so  strictly  as  to  prevent  it  coming 
to  the  knowledge  of  Lord  Rickmansworth.  In- 
deed he  had  a  right  to  know  the  issue,  for  he  had 
been  a  sharer  in  the  design  ;  and  accordingly, 
when  he  also  left  Baden  and  betook  himself  to 
his  own  house  to  spend  what  was  left  of  the 
autumn,  he  carried  locked  in  his  heart  the 
news  of  the  fresh  development.  On  the  whole 
he  observed  the  injunction  of  silence  urgently 
laid  upon  him  by  Ayre  with  tolerable  faithful- 
ness. But  there  are  limits  to  these  things, 
and  it  never  entered  Rickmansworth's  head 
that  his  sister  was  included  among  the  persons 
who  were  to  remain  in  ignorance  till  the  mat- 
ter was  finally  settled.  He  met  Claudia  at  the 
family  reunion  at  Territon  Park  in  the  begin- 
ning of  October,  and  when  she  and  he  and 
Bob  were  comfortably  seated  at  dinner  to- 
gether, among  the  first  remarks  he  made 
— indeed,  he  was  brimming  over  with  it — ■ 
was  : 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  the  news,  Clau  ?  " 


j  ■,.  FA  THER  ST  A  FFORD. 

What  with  one  thing — packing  and  unpack- 
ing, traveling,  perhaps  less  obvious  troubles 
— Lady  Claudia  was  in  a  state  which,  if  it 
manifested  itself  in  a  less  attractive  person, 
might  be  called  snappish. 

"  I  never  hear  any  news,"  she  answered 
shortly. 

"Well,  here's  some  for  you,"  replied  the 
Earl,  grinning.  "  Kate  has  chucked  Eugene 
over." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  But  she  started  and  colored, 
all  the  same. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  at  Baden  and  saw  it 
all,  and  I  wasn't  !  "  said  Rickmansworth, 
with  ponderous  satire.  "  So  we  won't  say  any 
more  about  it." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"No  ;  never  mind  !  It  doesn't  matter — all  a 
mistake.  I'm  always  making  some  beastly 
blunder — eh,  Bob  ?  "  and  he  winked  gently  at 
his  appreciative  brother. 

"  Yes,  you're  an  ass,  of  course  !  "  said  Bob, 
entering  into  the  family  humor. 

"Good  thing  I've  got  a  sister  to  keep  me 
straight  !  "  pursued  the  Earl,  who  was  greatly 
amused  with  himself.  "  Might  have  gone 
about  believing  it,  you  know." 

Claudia  was  annoyed.  Brothers  are  annoy- 
ing at  times. 

"  I  don't  see  any  fun  in  that,"  she  said. 

Lord  Rickmansworth  drank  some  beer 
(beer  was  the  Territon  drink),  and  maintained 
silence. 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BA  DEN.  j  -,  r 

The  butler  came  in  with  his  satellite,  swept 
away  the  beer  and  the  other  impedimenta, 
and  put  on  dessert.  The  servants  disap- 
peared, but  silence  still  reigned  unbroken. 

Claudia  arose,  and  went  round  to  her 
brother's  chair.  He  was  ostentatiously  busy 
with  a  large  plum. 

"  Rick,  dear,  won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Tell  you  !  Why,  it's  all  nonsense,  you 
know." 

"  Rick,  dear  !  "  said  Claudia  again,  with  her 
arm  around  his  neck. 

He  was  going  to  carry  on  his  jest  a  little 
further,  when  he  happened  to  look  at  her. 

"  Why,  Clau,  you  look  as  if  you  were 
almost " 

"  Never  mind  that,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  Oh  !  do  tell  me." 

"  It  is  quite  true.  She's  written  breaking 
it  off,  and  has  accepted  Haddington.  But  it's 
a  secret,  you  know,  till  they've  heard  from 
Eugene,  at  all  events.  Must  hear  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"  Is  it  really  true  ?  " 

«*  Of  course  it  is." 

Claudia  kissed  him,  and  suddenly  ran  out 
of  the  room. 

The  brothers  looked  at  one  another. 

'*  I  hope  that's  all  right  ?  "  said  the  elder 
questioningly. 

"  I  expect  so,"  answered  the  younger. 
"  But,  you  see,  you  don't  quite  know  where  to 
have  Eugene." 


!^6  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  I  shall  know  where  to  have  him,  if  neces- 
sary." 

"  You'd  better  keep  your  hoof  out  of  it,  old 
man,"  said  Bob  candidly. 

Pursuing  his  train  of  thought,  Rickrnans- 
worth  went  on  : 

"  Must  have  been  rather  a  queer  game  at 
Millstead  ?  " 

"  Yes.  There  was  Eugene  and  Kate,  and 
Claudia  and  the  parson,  and  old  Ayre  sticking 
his  long  nose  into  it." 

"Trust  old  Ayre  for  that;  and  is  it  a 
case  ?  " 

"  Well,  now  Kate's  out  of  it,  I  expect  it  is, 
only  you  don't  know  where  to  have  Eugene. 
And  there's  the  parson." 

"  Yes  ;  Ayre  told  us  a  bit  about  him.  But 
she  doesn't  care  for  him  ? 

"  She  didn't  tell  him  so — not  by  any 
means,"  said  Bob  ;  "  and  I  bet  he's  far  gone 
on  her." 

"  She  can't  take  him." 

"  Good  Lord  !  no." 

Though  how  they  proposed  to  prevent  it 
did  not  appear. 

"Think  Lane'll  write  to  her  ?  " 

-"  He  ought  to,  right  off." 

"  Queer  girl,  ain't  she  ?  " 

"  Deuced  !  " 

"  Old  Ayre  !  I  say,  Bob,  you  should  have 
seen  the  old  sinner  at  Baden." 

"  What  ?  with  Kate  ?  " 

«*«  No  ;  the  other  business." 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  BADEN.  j  ,7 

And  they  plunged  into  matters  with  which 
we  need  not  concern  ourselves,  and  proceeded 
to  rend  and  destroy  the  character  of  that  most 
respectable,  middle-aged  gentleman,  Sir  Rod- 
erick Ayre.  The  historian  hastens  to  add  that 
their  remarks  were,  as  a  rule,  entirely  devoid 
of  truth,  with  which  general  comment  we  may- 
leave  them. 


2^8  FATHER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER  X. 
.flfcr.  /Hborewooo  is  /llboveo  to  Unoignatfon. 

H^e^gj'HEN     Morewood    was    at    work    he 


I 


:;:i 


painted  portraits,  and  painted  them 
uncommonly  well.  Of  course  he 
made  his  moan  at  being  compelled 
to  spend  all  his  time  on  this  work.  He  was 
not,  equally  of  course,  in  any  way  compelled, 
except  in  the  sense  that  if  you  want  to  make 
a  large  income  you  must  earn  it.  This  is  the 
sense  in  which  many  people  are  compelled  to 
do  work,  which  they  give  you  to  understand 
is  not  the  most  suited  to  their  genius,  and 
it  must  be  admitted  that,  although  their  words 
are  foolish,  not  to  say  insincere,  yet  their  deeds 
are  sensible.  There  can  be  no  mistake  about 
the  income,  and  there  often  is  about  the  genius. 
Morewood,  whose  eccentricity  stopped  short 
of  his  banking  account,  painted  his  portraits 
like  other  people,  and  only  deviated  into  land- 
scape for  a  month  in  the  summer,  with  the 
unfailing  result  of  furnishing  a  crop  of  More- 
woodesque  parodies  on  Mother  Nature  that 
conclusively  proved  the  fates  were  wiser  than 
the  painter. 

This  year  it  so  chanced  that  he  chose  the 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  INDJGNA  T10N.         ^g 

wilds  of  Exmoor  for  the  scene  of  his  outrages. 
He  settled  down  in  a  small  inn  and  plied  his 
brush  busily.  Of  course  he  did  not  paint  any- 
thing that  the  ordinary  person  cared  to  see, 
or  in  the  way  in  which  it  would  appear  to 
such  person.  But  he  was  greatly  pleased 
with  his  work  ;  and  one  day,  as  he  threw  him- 
self down  on  a  bank  at  noon  and  got  out  his 
bread  and  cheese,  he  was  so  carried  away, 
being  by  nature  a  conceited  man,  as  to  ex- 
claim : 

»  My  head  of  Stafford  was  the  best  head 
done  these  hundred  years  ;  and  that's  the 
best  bit  of  background  done  these  hundred 
and  fifty  !  " 

The  frame  of  the  phrase  seemed  familiar  to 
him  as  he  uttered  it,  and  he  had  just  succeeded 
in  tracing  it  back  to  the  putative  parentage  of 
Lord  Verulam,  when,  to  his  great  astonish- 
ment, he  heard  Stafford's  voice  from  the  top 
of  the  bank,  saying  : 

"  As  I  am  in  your  mind  already,  Mr.  More- 
wood,  I  feel  my  bodily  appearance  less  of  an 
intrusion  on  your  solitude." 

"Why,  how  in  the  world  did  you  come 
here  ?  " 

The  spot  was  within  ten  miles  of  the  Re- 
treat, and  part  of  Stafford's  treatment  for  him- 
self consisted  of  long  walks  ;  but  he  only  re- 
plied : 

"  I  am  staying  near  here." 
"For  health,  eh  ?" 
..  Yes— for  health." 


1 40  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  How  are 
you  ?     You  don't  look  very  first-class." 

Stafford  came  down  the  bank  without  re- 
plying, and  sat  down.  He  was,  in  spite  of  it 
being  the  country  and  very  hot,  dressed  in  his 
usual  black,  and  looked  paler  and  thinner 
than  ever. 

*'  Have  some  lunch  ?  " 

Stafford  smiled. 

"  There's  only  enough  for  one,"  he  said. 

"  Nonsense,  man  !  " 

"  No,  really  ;  I  never  take  it." 

A  pause  ensued.  Stafford  seemed  to  be 
thinking,  while  Morewood  was  undoubtedly 
eating.     Presently,  however,  the  latter  said  : 

"  You  left  us  rather  suddenly  at  Millstead." 

"  Yes." 

"Sent  for  ?  " 

"  You  of  all  men  know  why  I  went,  Mr. 
Morewood." 

"If you  don't  mind  my  admitting  it,  I  do. 
But  most  people  are  so  thin-skinned." 

"  I  am  not  thin-skinned — not  in  that  way. 
Of  course  you  know.     You  told  me." 

"  That  head  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  did  me  a  service." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  did,  and  I'm  glad  to  hear 
you  say  so." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"Shows  you've  come  to  your  senses,"  said 
Morewood,  rapidly  recovering  from  his  lapse 
into  civility. 

Stafford    seemed   willing,   even  anxious,  to 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  INDIGNA  TION  j  ^  j 

pursue  the  subject.  The  regimen  at  the 
Retreat  was  no  doubt  severe. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  coming  to  my 
senses  ? " 

"  Why,  doing  what  any  man  does  when  he 
finds  he's  in  love — barring  a  sound  reason 
against  it." 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  Try  his  luck.  You  needn't  look  at  me. 
I've  tried  my  luck  before  now,  and  it  was 
damned  bad  luck.  So  here  I  am,  a  musty  old 
curmudgeon  ;  and  there's  Ayre,  a  snarling 
old  cur  !  " 

"  I  don't  bore  you  about  it  ?" 

"  No,  I  like  jawing." 

"  Well  then,  I  was  going  to  say,  of  course 
you  don't  know  how  it  struck  me." 

"Yes,  I  do,  but  I  don't  think  any  the  bet- 
ter of  it  for  that." 

"  You  knew  about  my  vow  ?  I  suppose  you 
think  that " 

"  Bosh  ?  Yes,  I  do.  I  think  all  vows 
bosh ;  but  without  asking  you  to  agree  to 
that,  though  I  think  I  did  ask  the  Bishop  of 
Bellminster  to,  I  do  say  this  one  is  utter 
bosh.  Why,  your  own  people  say  so,  don't 
they  ?  " 

"  My  own  people  ?  The  people  I  suppose 
you  mean  don't  say  so.  I  took  a  vow  never 
to  marry — there  were  even  more  stringent 
terms — but  that's  enough." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"A   vow,"    continued    Stafford,    "that  you 


I42  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

won't  marry  till  you  want  to  is  not  the  same  as 
a  vow  never  to  marry." 

'*  No.  I  think  I  could  manage  the  first 
sort." 

"The  first  sort,"  said  Stafford,  with  a  smile, 
«« is  nowadays  a  popular  compromise." 

"  I  detest  compromises.  That's  why  I 
liked  you." 

"  You're  advising  me  to  make  one  now." 

"  No,  I  advise  you  to  throw  up  the  whole 
thing." 

••That's  because  you  don't  believe  in  any- 
thing ?  " 

*'  Yes,  probably." 

"  Suppose  you  believed  all  I  believe  and 
had  done  all  I  had  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  believed  what  a  priest  believes — in 
heaven  and  hell — the  gaining  God  and  the 
losing  him — in  good  and  evil.  Supposing  you, 
believing  this,  had  given  your  life  to  God,  and 
made  your  vow  to  him — had  so  proclaimed 
before  men,  had  so  lived  and  worked  and 
striven  !  Supposing  you  thought  a  broken 
vow  was  death  to  your  own  soul  and  a  trap 
to  the  souls  of  others — a  baseness,  a  treason, 
a  desertion — more  cowardly  than  a  soldier's 
flight — as  base  as  a  thief's  purloining — mean- 
ing to  you  and  those  who  had  trusted  you  the 
death  of  good  and  the  triumph  of  evil  ?  " 

He  sat  still,  but  his  voice  was  raised  in  rapid 
and  intense  utterance  ;  he  gazed  before  him 
with  starting  eyes. 


MR.  MOREIVOOD'S  INDIGNA  TION.  j,, 

"  All  that,"  he  went  on,  "  it  meant  to  me — ■ 
all  that  and  more — the  triumph  of  the  beast  in 
me — passion  and  desire  rampant — man  for- 
saken and  God  betrayed — my  peace  forever 
gone,  my  honor  forever  stained.  Can't  you 
see  ?     Can't  you  see  ?  " 

Morewood  rose  and  paced  up  and  down. 

"  Now — now  can  you  judge  ?  You  say  you 
knew — did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Do  you  still  believe  all  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all,  and  more  than  all.  For  a 
moment — a  day — perhaps  a  week,  I  drove 
myself  to  doubt.  I  tried  to  doubt — I  rejoiced 
in  it.  But  I  cannot.  As  God  is  above  us,  I 
believe  all  that." 

"  If  you  break  this  vow  you  think  you  will 
be ?  " 

"  The  creature  I  have  said  ?  Yes — and 
worse." 

"  I  think  the  vow  utter  nonsense,"  said 
Morewood  again. 

"  But  if  you  thought  as  I  think,  then  would 
your  love — yes,  and  would  a  girl's  heart, 
weigh  with  you  ?  " 

Morewood  stood  still. 

"  I  can  hardly  realize  it,"  he  said,  ««  in  a 
man  of  your  brain.     But " 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Stafford,  looking  at  him  almost 
as  if  he  were  amused,  for  his  sudden  outburst 
had  left  him  quite  calm. 

"If  I  believed  that,  I'd  cut  off  my  hand 
rather  than  break  the  vow." 

"  I  knew  it !  "  cried  Stafford,  "  I  knew  it  !  ** 


j..  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

Morewood  was  touched  with  pity. 

"  If  you're  right,"  he  said,  "  it  won't  be  so 
hard  to  you.     You'll  get  over  it." 

"  Get  over  it  ? 

"  Yes  ;  what  you  believe  will  help  you. 
You've  no  choice,  you  know." 

Stafford  still  wore  a  look  of  half-amusement. 

"You  have  never  felt  belief?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  for  many  years.     That's  all  gone." 

««  You  think  you  have  been  in  love  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have — half  a  dozen  times." 

"  No  more  than  the  other,"  said  Stafford 
decisively. 

Moreword  was  about  to  speak,  but  Stafford 
went  on  quickly : 

"  I  have  told  you  what  belief  is — I  could  tell 
you  what  love  is  ;  you  know  no  more  the  one 
than  the  other.  But  why  should  I  ?  I  doubt 
if  you  would  understand.  You  think  you 
couldn't  be  shocked.  I  should  shock  you. 
Let  it  be.  I  think  I  could  charm  you,  too. 
Let  that  be." 

A  pause  followed.  Stafford  still  sat  motion- 
less, but  his  face  gradually  changed  from  its 
stern  aspect  to  the  look  that  Morewood  had 
once  caught  on  his  canvas. 

"  You're  in  love  with  her  still  ? "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"Still?" 

"  Yes.  Haven't  you  conquered  it  ?  I'm  a 
poor  hand  at  preaching,  but,  by  Jove  !  If  I 
thought  like  you,  I'd  never  think  of  the  girl 
again." 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  IXDIGNA  TIO.V.  j^r 

"I  mean  to  marry  her,"  said  Stafford 
quietly.     "  I  have  chosen." 

Morewood  was  in  very  truth  shocked.  But 
Stafford's  morals,  after  all,  were  not  his  care. 

"  Perhaps  she  won't  have  you,"  he  sug- 
gested at  last,  as  though  it  were  a  happy  solu- 
tion. 

Stafford  laughed  outright. 

"  Then  I  could  go  back  to  my  priesthood,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  Well — after  a  time." 

"  As  a  burglar  who  is  caught  before  his 
robbery  goes  back  to  his  trade.  As  if  it  made 
the  smallest  difference — as  if  the  result  mat- 
tered !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right  there." 

"Of  course.     But  she  will  have  me." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? '' 

"  1  don't  doubt  it.  If  I  doubted  it,  I  should 
die." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  dare  say  you  do." 

"  You  don't  want  to  talk  about  that  ?  " 

"It  isn't  worth  while.  I  no  more  doubt 
it  than  that  the  sun  shines.  Well,  Mr. 
Morewood,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  hearing 
me  out.  I  had  a  curiosity  to  see  how  my 
resolution  struck  you." 

"If  you  have  told  me  the  truth,  it  strikes 
me  as  devilish.  I'm  no  saint  ;  but  if  a  man 
believes  in  good,  as  you  do,  by  God,  he 
oughtn't  to  trample  it  under  foot  !  " 

Stafford  took  no  notice  of  him.  He  rose 
10 


14-6  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

and  held  out  his  hand.  "  I'm  going  back  to 
London  to-morrow,"  he  said,  to  wait  till  she 
comes." 

"  God  help  you  ! "  said  Morewood,  with  a 
sudden  impulse. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  do  with  God,"  said 
Stafford. 

"  Then  the  devil  help  you,  if  you  rely  on 
him  !  " 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  he  said,  with  a  swift 
return  of  his  old  sweet  smile.  "  In  old  days 
I  should  have  liked  your  indignation.  I  still 
like  you  for  it.     But  I  have  made  my  choice." 

"  «  Evil,  be  thou  my  good.'     Is  that  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  like.  Why  talk  about  it  any 
more  ?     It  is  done." 

He  turned  and  walked  away,  leaving  More- 
wood  alone  to  finish  his  forgotten  lunch. 

He  could  not  get  the  thought  of  the  man 
out  of  his  mind  all  day.  It  was  with  him  as 
he  worked,  and  with  him  when  he  sat  after 
dinner  in  the  parlor  of  his  little  inn,  with  his 
pipe  and  whisky  and  water.  He  was  so  full 
of  Stafford  that  he  could  not  resist  the  impulse 
to  tell  somebody  else,  and  at  last  he  took  a 
sheet  of  paper. 

"  I  don't  know  if  he's  in  town,"  he  said, 
«« but  I'll  chance  it  ;  "  and  he  began  : 

"Dear  Ayre  : 

"  By  chance  down  here  I  met  the  parson.  He 
is  mad.  He  painted  for  me  the  passion  of 
belief — which  he  said  I  hadn't  and  implied  I 
couldn't   feel.     He  threatened    to  paint    the 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  INDIGNA  TION.        j^j 

passion  of  love,  with  the  same  assertion  and 
the  same  implication.  He  is  convinced  that  if 
he  breaks  his  vow  (you  remember  it,  of  course) 
he'll  be  worse  than  Satan.  Yet  his  face  is  set 
to  break  it.  You  probably  can't  help  it,  and 
wouldn't  if  you  could,  for  you  haven't  heard 
him.  He's  going  to  London.  Stop  him  if 
you  can  before  he  gets  to  Claudia  Territon.  I 
tell  you  his  state  of  mind  is  hideous. 
"  Yours, 

"  A.  MOREWOOD." 

This  somewhat  incoherent  letter  reached 
Sir  Roderick  Ayre  as  he  passed  through 
London,  and  tarried  a  day  or  two  in  early 
October.  He  opened  it,  read  it,  and  put  it 
down  on  the  breakfast-table.  Then  he  read 
it  again,  and  ejaculated. 

"  Talk  about  madness  !  Why,  because  Staf- 
ford's mad — if  he  is  mad — must  our  friend  the 
painter  go  mad  too  ?  Not  that  I  see  he  is 
mad.  He's  only  been  stirring  up  old  More- 
wood's  dormant  piety." 

He  lit  his  cigar,  and  sat  pondering  the 
letter. 

"  Shall  I  try  to  stop  him  ?  If  Claudia  and 
Eugene  have  fixed  up  things  it  would  be 
charitable  to  prevent  him  making  a  fool  of 
himself.  Why  the  deuce  haven't  I  heard  any- 
thing from  that  young  rascal  ?  Hullo  !  who's 
that  ?  " 

He  heard  a  voice  outside,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment Eugene  himself  rushed  in. 

"Here  you  are!"  he  said.      "Thought  I 


I48  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

should  find  you.  You  can't  keep -away  from 
this  dirty  old  town." 

"  Where  do  you  spring-  from  ?  "  asked  Ayre. 

"  Liverpool.  I  found  the  Continent  slow, 
so  I  went  to  America.  Nothing  moving  there, 
so  I  came  back  here.  Can  you  give  me  break- 
fast ?  " 

Ayre  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  a  new 
breakfast ;  as  he  did  so  he  took  up  More- 
wood's  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Eugene  went  on  talking  with  gay  affecta- 
tation  about  his  American  experiences.  Only 
when  he  was  through  his  breakfast  did  he 
approach  home  topics. 

"  Well,  how's  everybody  ?  " 

Ayre  waited  for  a  more  definite  question. 

"  Seen  the  Territons  lately  ?  " 

"  Not  very.     Haven't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  They  weren't  over  there,  you  know. 
Are  they  alive  ?  " 

"My  young  friend,  are  you  trying  to  de- 
ceive me  ?  You  have  heard  from  at  least  one 
of  them,  if  you  haven't  seen  them  ?  " 

"  I  haven't — not  a  line.  We  don't  corre- 
spond :  not  commcil faitt." 

"  Oh,  you  haven't  written  to  Claudia  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

••  Why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  previous  question. 
Have  you  heard  from  Miss  Bernard  ?  " 

"  Why  probe  my  wounds  ?  Not  a  single 
line." 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  INDIGNA  TION.        ^q 

«« Confound  her  impudence!  she  never 
wrote  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  she  should.  But  in 
case  she  ought,  I'm  bound  to  say  she  couldn't." 

"  Why  not  ?  She  said  she  would  ;  she  said 
so  to  me." 

"  She  couldn't  have  said  so.  You  must 
have  misunderstood  her.  I  left  no  address, 
you  know  ;  and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  eluding 
interviewers — not  being  a  prize-fighter  or  a 
minor  poet." 

Sir  Roderick  smiled. 

■•  Gad  !  I  never  thought  of  that.  She  held 
me,  after  all." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  If  there's  one  thing  I  hate  more  than 
another,  it's  a  narrative  ;  but  I  see  I'm  in  for 
it.  Sit  still  and  hold  your  tongue  till  I'm 
through  with  it." 

Eugene  obeyed  implicitly  ;  and  Ayre,  not 
without  honest  pride,  recounted  his  Baden 
triumph. 

"  And  unless  she's  bolder  than  I  think, 
you'll  find  a  letter  to  that  effect." 

Eugene  sat  very  quiet. 

"  Well,  you  don't  seem  overpleased,  after 
all.     Wasn't  I   right  ?  " 

"  Quite  right,  old  fellow.  But,  I  say,  is 
she  in  love  with  Haddington  ?  " 

"  Ah,  there's  your  beastly  vanity  ?  I  think 
she  is  rather;  you  know,  or  she'd  never  have 
given  herself  away  so." 

"  Rum  taste  !  "   said  Eugene,  whose   relief 


j  r  0  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

at  his  freedom  was  tempered  by  annoyance 
at  Kate's  insensibility.  "  But  I'm  awfully 
obliged.     And,  by  Jove,  Ayre,  it's  new  life  to 


me 


i  " 


"  I  thought  so." 

Eugene  had  got  over  his  annoyance.  A 
sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 

*'  I  say,  does  Claudia  know  ?  " 

••  Rickmansworth's  sure  to  have  told  her  on 
the  spot.  She  must  have  known  it  a  month  ; 
and  what's  more,  she  must  think  you've  known 
it  a  month." 

"  Inference  that  the  sooner  I  show  up  the 
better." 

"  Exactly.  What,  are  you  off  now  ?  Do 
you  know  where  she  is  ?  " 

"I  shall  send  a  wire  to  Territon  Park. 
Rick's  sure  to  be  there  if  she  isn't,  and  I'll  go 
down  and  find  out  about  it." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  will  you  ?  Have  you 
heard  from  your  friend  Stafford  lately  ?  " 

A  shadow  fell  on  Eugene's  face. 

"  No.  But  that's  over.  Must  be,  or  he'd 
never  have  bolted  from  Millstead." 

Ayre  was  silent  a  moment.  Morewood's 
letter  told  him  that  Stafford  had  set  out  to  go 
to  Claudia.  What  if  he  and  Eugene  met  ? 
Ayre  had  not  much  faith  in  the  power  of 
friendship  under  such  circumstances. 

"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  that  I'd  better  show 
you  a  letter  I've  had,"  he  said.  "  Mind  you, 
I  take  no  responsibility  for  what  you  do."  ' 

"  Nobody  wants  you  to,"  said  Eugene,  with 


MR.  MOREU'OOD'S  INDIGNA  TION: 

l0 


1^1 


a  smile.  "  We  all  understand  that's  youf 
position." 

Ayre  flung  the  letter  over  to  him  and  he 
read  it. 

"  Oh,  by  Jove,  this  is  the  devil  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, jumping  off  the  writing-table,  where 
he  had  seated  himself. 

"So  Morewood  seems  to  think." 

"  Poor  old  fellow  !  I  say,  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Poor  old  Stafford  !  Fancy  his  cutting  up 
like  this." 

"It's  kind  of  you  to  pity  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  say,  Ayre,  you 
don't  think  there  is  anything  in  it  ?  " 

"  Anything  in  it  ?  " 

••  You  don't  think  there's  any  chance  that 
Claudia  likes  him  ?  " 

"  Haven't  an  idea  one  way  or  the  other, 
said  Ayre  rather  disingenuously. 

Eugene  looked  very  perturbed. 

"  You  see,"  continued  Ayre,  "  it's  pretty 
cool  of  you  to  assume  the  girl  is  in  love  with 
you  when  she  knew  you  were  engaged  to 
somebody  else  up  to  a  month  ago." 

"  Oh,  damn  it,  yes  ! "  groaned  Eugene  ; 
"  but  she  knew  old  Stafford  had  sworn  not  to 
marry  anybody." 

"  And  she  knew — of  course  she  knew — you 
both  wanted  to  marry  her.  I  wonder  what 
she  thought  of  both  of  you  !  " 

"  She  never  had  any  idea  of  the  sort  about 
him.  About  me  she  may  have  had  an  ink- 
ling." 


j  r  2  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

"Just  an  inkling,  perhaps,"  assented  Sir 
Roderick. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  you  know,  if  she  does 
like  me  I  shall  feel  a  brute,  cutting  in  now. 
Old  Stafford  knew  I  was  engaged  too,  you 
know." 

*'  It  all  serves  you  right,"  observed  Ayre 
comfortingly.  "If  you  must  get  engaged  at 
all,  why  the  deuce  couldn't  you  pick  the  right 
girl  ?  " 

"  Fact  is,  I  don't  show  up  over  well." 

"  You  don't  ;  that  is  a  fact." 

"  Ayre,  I  think  I  ought  to  let  him  have  his 
shot  first." 

"  Bosh  !  why,  as  like  as  not  she'd  take  him  ! 
If  it  struck  her  that  he  was  chucking  away 
his  immortal  soul  and  all  that  for  her  sake,  as 
like  as  not  she'd  take  him.  Depend  upon  it, 
Eugene,  once  she  caught  the  idea  of  romantic 
sin,  she'd  be  gone — no  girl  could  stand  up 
against  it." 

"  It  is  rather  the  sort  of  thing  to  catch 
Claudia's  fancy." 

"You  cut  in,  my  boy,"  continued  Ayre. 
"  Frendship's  all  very  well " 

"  Yes,  '  save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of 
love ! ' "  quoted  Eugene,  with  a  smile  of 
"scorn  at  himself. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  make  up  your  mind, 
and  don't  mount  stilts." 

"  I'll  go  down  and  look  round.  But  I  can't 
ask  her  without  telling  her  or  letting  him  tell 
her." 


MR.  MORE  WOOD'S  INDIGNA  TION.  j  r  , 

41  Pooh  !  she  knows." 

"  She  doesn't,  I  tell  you." 

"  Then  she  ought  to.  You're  a  nice  fellow ! 
I  slave  and  eavesdrop  for  you,  and  now  you 
won't  do  the  rest  yourself.  What  the  deuce  do 
you  all  see  in  that  parson  ?  If  I  were  your 
age,  and  thought  Claudia  Territon  would  have 
me,  it  would  take  a  lot  of  parsons  to  put  me 
on  one  side." 

"  Poor  old  Charley  !  "  said  Eugene  again. 
"  Ayre,  he  shall  have  his  shot." 

"  Meanwhile,  the  girl's  wondering  if  you 
mean  to  throw  her  over.  She's  expected  to 
hear  from  you  this  last  month.  I  tell  you 
what :  I  expect  Rick'll  kick  you  when  you  do 
turn  up." 

"Well,  I  shall  go  down  and  try  to  see  her  : 
when  I  get  there  I  must  be  guided  by  circum- 
stances." 

"  Very  good.  I  expect  the  circumstances 
will  turn  out  to  be  such  that  you'll  make  love 
to  Claudia  and  forget  all  about  Stafford.  If 
you  don't " 

"What?" 

"  You're  an  infernally  cold-blooded  consci- 
entious young  ruffian,  and  I  never  took  you 
for  that  before  !  " 

And  Ayre,  more  perturbed  about  other  peo- 
ple's affairs  than  a  man  of  his  creed  had  any 
business  to  be,  returned  to  the  Times  as 
Eugene  went  to  pursue  his  errand. 


j  -  .  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Waiting  XaD^  Claudia's  pleasure. 

TAFFORD  had  probably  painted  his 
state  of  mind  in  colors  somewhat 
P|§§P|jj  more  startling  than  the  reality  war- 
^i>r~rt*^  ranted.  When  a  man  is  going  to 
act  against  his  conscience,  there  is  a  sort  of 
comfort  in  making  out  that  the  crime  has 
features  of  more  striking  depravity  than  an 
unbiased  observer  would  detect  ;  the  inclina- 
tion in  this  direction  is  increased  when  it  is 
a  question  of  impressing  others.  Sin  seems 
commonplace  if  we  give  it  no  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance. No  man  was  more  free  than 
Stafford  from  any  conscious  hypocrisy  or  pos- 
ing, or  from  the  inverted  pride  in  immorality 
that  is  often  an  affectation,  but  also,  more 
often  than  we  are  willing  to  allow,  a  real  dis- 
ease of  the  mind.  But  in  his  interview  with 
Morewood  he  had  yielded  to  the  temptation 
of  giving  a  more  dramatic  setting  and  stronger 
contrasts  to  his  conviction  and  his  action  than 
the  actual  inmost  movement  of  his  mind  justi- 
fied. It  was  true  that  he  was  determined  to 
set  action  and  conviction  in  sharp  antagonism, 
and  to  follow  an  overpowering  passion  rather 


WAITING  LADY  CLAUDIA'S  PLEASURE,     j^ 

than  a  belief  that  he  depicted  as  no  less  domi- 
nant.     Had  his  fierce   words    to    Morewood 
reproduced  exactly  what  he   felt,   it   may   be 
doubted   whether  the   resultant  of  two   forces 
so  opposite  and  so  equal  could  have  been  the 
ultimately    unwavering    intention     that    now 
possessed     him.       In     truth,    the    aggressive 
strength  of  his  belief  had   been   sapped   from 
within.     His  efforts  after  doubt,  described  by 
himself  as  entirely   unsuccessful,  had   not  in 
reality  been    without  result.      They  had  not 
issued  in  any  radical  or  wholesale  alteration 
of  his  views.     He  was  right  in  supposing  that 
he  would  still  have  given  as   full  intellectual 
assent  to  all  the  dogmas  of  his  creed  as  for- 
merly ;  the  balance  of  probability  was  still  in 
his  view  overwhelmingly  in  their  favor.     But 
it  had  come  to  be  a  balance  of  probability — 
not,  of  course,  in  the    way  in  which  a  man 
balances  one    account  of  an    ordinary  trans- 
action against  another,  and  decides  out  of  his 
own   experience  of  how  things  happen — Staf- 
ford had  not  lost  his  mental  discrimination  so 
completely — but  in  the  sense   that  he  had  ap- 
pealed   to    reason,    and     thus    admitted    the 
jurisdiction  of  reason  in  matters  which  he  had 
formerly  proclaimed  as  outside  the  province 
of  that  sort  of  reasoning  that  governs   other 
intellectual  questions.     In  the  result,  he  was 
left  under  the  influence  of  a  persuasion,  not 
under  the  dominion  of  a  command  ;  and  the 
former  failed  to  withstand  an  assault  that  the 
latter  might  well  have  enabled  him  to  repulse. 


jh5  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

He  found  himself  able  to  forget  what  he  be. 
lieved,  though  not  to  disbelieve  it ;  his  convic- 
tions could  be  postponed,  though  not  expelled  ; 
and  in  representing  his  mind  as  the  present 
battle-ground  of  equal  and  opposite  forces,  he 
had  rather  expressed  what  a  preacher  would 
reveal  as  the  inner  truth  of  his  struggle  than 
what  he  was  himself  conscious  of  as  going  on 
within  him.  It  is  likely  enough  that  his  pre- 
vious experience  had  made  him  describe  his  own 
condition  rather  in  the  rhetoric  of  the  pulpit 
than  in  the  duller  language  of  a  psychological 
narrative.  He  had  certainly  given  Morewood 
one  false  impression,  or  rather,  perhaps 
Morewood  had  drawn  one  false  though  natural 
inference  for  himself.  He  thought  of  Stafford, 
and  his  letter  passed  on  the  same  view  to 
Eugene,  as  of  a  man  suffering  tortures  that 
passed  enduring.  Perhaps  at  the  moment  of 
•their  interview  such  was  the  case  :  the  dramatic 
picture  Stafford  had  drawn  had  for  the 
moment  terrified  afresh  the  man  who  drew  it. 
His  normal  state  of  mind,  however,  at  this 
time  was  not  unhappy.  He  was  wretched 
now  and  then  by  effort;  he  was  tortured  by 
the  sense  of  sin  when  he  remembered  to  be. 
But  for  the  most  part  he  was  too  completely 
conquered  by  his  passion  to  do  other  than  re- 
joice in  it.  Possessed  wholly  by  it,  and  full  of 
an  undoubting  confidence  that  Claudia  re- 
turned his  love,  or  needed  only  to  realize  it 
fully  to  return  it  fully,  he  had  silenced  all 
opposition,  and  went  forth  to  his  wooing  with, 


WAITING  LADY  CLA  UDIA'S  PLEASURE,     jry 

an  exultation  and  a  triumph  that  no  transitory 
self-judgments  could  greatly  diminish.  Life 
lay  before  him,  long  and  full  and  rich  and 
sweet.  Let  trouble  be  what  it  would,  and 
right  be  what  it  might,  life  and  love  were  in 
his  own  hands.  The  picture  of  a  man  giving 
up  all  he  thought  worth  having,  driven  in 
misery  by  a  force  he  could  not  resist  to  seek  a 
remedy  that  he  despaired  of  gaining — a  rem- 
edy  which,  even  if  gained,  would  bring  him 
nothing  but  fresh  pain — this  picture,  over 
which  Eugene  was  mourning  in  honest  and 
perplexed  friendship,  never  took  form  as  a 
true  presentment  of  himself  to  the  man  it  was 
supposed  to  embody.  If  Eugene  had  known 
this,  he  would  probably  have  felt  less  sympathy 
and  more  rivalry,  and  would  have  assented  to 
Ayre's  view  of  the  situation  rather  than 
doubtingly  maintained  his  own.  A  man  may 
sometimes  change  himself  more  easily  than 
he  can  persuade  his  friends  to  recognize  the 
change. 

Stafford  left  the  Retreat  the  morning  after 
his  meeting  with  Morewood,  feeling,  he  con- 
fessed to  himself,  as  if  he  had  taken  a 
somewhat  unfair  advantage  of  its  hospitality. 
The  result  of  his  sojourn  there,  if  known  to 
the  Founder,  might  have  been  a  trial  of  that 
enthusiast's  consistency  to  his  principles,  and 
Stafford  was  glad  to  be  allowed  to  depart, 
as  he  had  come,  unquestioned.  He  came 
straight  to  London,  and  turned  at  once  to 
the   task   of  finding   Claudia  as  soon  as   he 


!  eg  FATHER  STAFFORD.  ■ 

could.  The  most  likely  quarter  for  informa- 
tion was,  he  thought,  Eugene  Lane  or  his 
mother  ;  and  on  the  afternoon  of  his  arrival 
in  town — on  the  same  day,  that  is,  as  Eugene 
had  surprised  Sir  Roderick  at  breakfast — he 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Eugene's  house  in 
Upper  Berkeley  Street,  and  inquired  if 
Eugene  were  at  home.  The  man  told  him  that 
Mr.  Lane  had  returned  only  that  morning, 
from  America,  he  believed,  and  had  left  the 
house  an  hour  ago,  on  his  way  to  Territon 
Park  ;  he  added  that  he  believed  Mr.  Lane 
had  received  a  telegram  from  Lord  Rickmans- 
worth  inviting  him  to  go  down.  Mrs.  Lane 
was  at  Millstead  Manor. 

Stafford  was  annoyed  at  missing  Eugene, 
but  not  surprised  or  disturbed  to  hear  of  his 
visit  to  Territon  Park.  Eugene  did  not  strike 
him  as  a  possible  rival.  It  may  be  doubted 
whether  in  his  present  frame  of  mind  he  wouk 
have  looked  on  any  man's  rivalry  as  dangerous 
but  of  course  he  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
new  development  of  affairs,  and  supposes 
Eugene  to  be  still  the  affianced  husband  of 
Miss  Bernard.  The  only  way  the  news  affected 
him  was  by  dispelling  the  slight  hope  he  had 
'entertained  of  finding  that  Claudia  had  already 
returned  to  London. 

He  went  back  to  his  hotel,  wrote  a  single 
line  to  Eugene,  asking  him  to  tell  him  Claudia's 
address,  if  he  knew  it,  and  then  went  for  a 
walk  in  the  Park  to  pass  the  restless  hours 
away.     It  was  a  dull  evening,  and  the  earliest 


WAITING  LADY  CLAUDIA'S  PLEASURE,     j^g 

of  the  fogs  had  settled  on  the  devoted  city. 
A  small  drizzle  of  rain  and  the  thickening 
blackness  had  cleared  the  place  of  saunterers, 
and  Stafford,  who  prolonged  his  walk,  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  his  surroundings,  had 
the  dreary  path  by  the  Serpentine  nearly  to 
himself.  As  the  fog  grew  denser  and  night 
fell,  the  spot  became  a  desert,  and  its  chill 
gloom  began  to  be  burdensome  even  to  his 
prepossessed  mind.  He  stopped  and  gazed  as 
far  as  the  mist  let  him  over  the  water,  which 
lay  smooth  and  motionless,  like  a  sheet  of 
opaque  glass  ;  the  opposite  bank  was  shrouded 
from  his  view,  and  imagination  allowed  him 
to  think  himself  standing  on  the  shore  of 
some  almost  boundless  lake.  Seen  under  such 
conditions,  the  Serpentine  put  off  the  cheerful 
vulgarity  of  its  everyday  aspect,  and  exer- 
cised over  the  spirit  of  the  watcher  the  same 
fascination  as  a  mountain  tarn  or  some  deep, 
quick-flowing  stream.  "  Come  hither  and  be 
at  rest,"  it  seemed  to  whisper,  and  Stafford, 
responsive  to  the  subtle  invitation,  for  a 
moment  felt  as  if  to  die  in  the  thought  of 
his  mistress  would  be  as  sweet  as  to  live  in 
her  presence,  and,  it  might  be,  less  perilous. 
At  least  he  could  be  quiet  there.  His  mind 
traveled  back  to  a  by-gone  incident  of  his 
parochial  life,  when  he  had  found  a  wretched 
shop-boy  crouching  by  the  water's  edge,  and 
trying  to  screw  his  courage  up  for  the  final 
plunge.  It  was  a  sordid  little  tragedy — an 
honest  lad  was   caught  in  the  toils  of  some 


j  6  0  FA  THE  R  STA  FFORD. 

slatternly  Jezebel;  she  had  made  -him  steal 
for  her,  had  spent  his  spoil,  and  then  deserted 
him  for  his  "  pal  " — his  own  familiar  friend. 
Adrift  on  the  world,  beggared  in  character 
and  fortune,  and  sore  to  the  heart,  he  had 
wandered  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  and 
listened  to  its  low-voiced  promises  of  peace. 
Stafford  had  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  pluck 
him  from  his  doom  and  set  him  on  his  feet  ; 
he  prevailed  on  the  lad  to  go  home  in  his 
company,  and  the  course  of  a  few  days  proved 
once  again  that  despair  may  be  no  more  en- 
during than  delight.  The  incident  had  almost 
faded  from  his  memory,  but  it  revived  now  as 
he  stood  and  looked  on  the  water,  and  he 
recognized  with  a  start  the  depths  to  which  he 
was  in  danger  of  falling.  The  invitation  of 
the  water  could  not  draw  him  to  it  till  he 
knew  Claudia's  will.  But  if  she  failed  him, 
was  not  that  the  only  thing  left  ?  His  desire 
had  swallowed  up  his  life,  and  seemed  to  point 
to  death  as  the  only  alternative  to  its  own 
satisfaction.  He  contemplated  this  conclusion, 
not  with  the  personal  interest  of  a  man  who 
thought  he  might  be  called  to  act  upon  it,— 
Claudia  would  rescue  him  from  that, — but  with 
a  theoretical  certainty  that  if  by  any  chance 
the  staff  on  which  he  leant  should  break,  he 
would  be  in  no  other  mind  than  that  from 
which  he  had  rescued  his  miserable  shop-boy. 
Death  for  love's  sake  was  held  up  in  poetry 
and  romance  as  a  thing  in  some  sort  noble 
and  honorable  ;  as  a  man  might  die  because 


WAITING  LADY  CLA  UDIA  'S  PLEA  SURE.     Yfa 

he  could  not  save  his  country,  so  might  he 
because  he  could  not  please  his  lady-love.  In 
old  days,  Stafford,  rigidly  repressing  his 
aesthetic  delight  in  such  literature,  had  con- 
demned its  teaching  with  half-angry  contempt, 
and  enough  of  his  former  estimate  of  things 
remained  to  him  to  prevent  him  regarding 
such  a  state  of  mind  as  it  pictured  as  a  roman- 
tic elevation  rather  than  a  hopeless  degrada- 
tion of  a  man's  being.  But  although  he  still 
condemned,  now  he  understood,  if  not  the 
defense  of  such  an  attitude,  at  least  the  ex- 
istence of  it.  He  might  still  think  it  a  folly  ; 
it  no  longer  appeared  a  figment.  A  sin  it 
was,  no  doubt,  and  a  degradation,  but  not  an 
enormity  or  an  absurdity  ;  and  when  he  tried 
again  to  fancy  his  life  without  Claudia,  he 
struggled  in  vain  against  the  growing  convic- 
tion that  the  pictures  he  had  condemned  as 
caricatures  of  humanity  had  truth  in  them, 
and  that  it  might  be  his  part  to  prove  it. 

"With  a  shiver  he  turned  away.  Such  im- 
aginings were  not  good  for  a  man,  nor  the 
place  that  bred  them.  He  took  the  shortest 
cut  that  led  out  of  the  Park  and  back  to  the 
streets,  where  he  found  lights  and  people,  and 
his  thoughts,  sensitive  to  the  atmosphere 
round  him,  took  a  brighter  hue.  Why  should 
he  trouble  himself  with  what  he  would  do  if 
he  were  deceived  in  Claudia  ?  He  knew  her 
too  well  to  doubt  her.  He  had  pushed  aside 
all  obstacles  to  seek  her,  and  she  would  fly  to 
meet  him  ;  and  he  smiled  at  himselt  for  con- 
II 


i6: 


FA  THER  STAFFORD. 


juring  up  fantasies  of  impossible-  misfortune, 
only  to  enjoy  the  solace  of  laying  them  again 
with  the  sweet  confidence  of  love.  He  passed 
the  evening  in  the  contemplation  of  his  happi- 
ness, awaiting  Eugene's  reply  to  his  note  with 
impatience,  but  without  disquiet. 

This  same  letter  was,  however,  the  cause  of 
very  serious  disquiet  to  the  recipient,  more 
especially  as  it  came  upon  the  top  of,another 
troublesome  occurrence.  Rickmansworth  had 
welcomed  Eugene  to  Territon  Park  with  his 
usual  good  nature  and  his  usual  absence 
of  effusion.  In  fact,  he  telegraphed  that  Eu- 
gene could  come  if  he  liked,  but  he,  Rick- 
mansworth, thought  he'd  find  it  beastly  slow. 
Eugene  went,  but  found,  to  his  dismay,  that 
Claudia  was  not  there.  Some  mystery  hung 
over  her  non-appearance  ;  but  he  learned  from 
Bob  that  her  departure  had  been  quite  im- 
promptu,— decided  upon,  in  fact,  after  his 
telegram  was  received, — and  that  she  was 
staying  some  five  miles  off,  at  the  Dower 
House,  with  her  aunt,  Lady  Julia,  who  occu- 
pied that  residence. 

Eugene  was  much  annoyed  and  rather  un- 
easy. 

"  It  looks  as  if  she  didn't  want  to  see  me," 
he  said  to  Bob. 

"  It  does,  almost,"  replied  Bob  cheerfully. 
"  Perhaps  she  don't." 

"Well,  I'll  go  over  and  call  to-morrow." 

"You  can  if  you  like.  /  should  let  her 
alone." 


WAITING  LADY  CLA  UDIA'S  PLEASURE.     j5^ 

Very  likely  Bob's  words  were  the  words  of 
wisdom,  but  when  did  a  lover — even  a  toler« 
ably  cool-headed  lover  like  Eugene — ever  list- 
en to  the  words  of  wisdom  ?  He  went  to  bed 
in  a  bad  temper.  Then  in  the  morning  came 
Stafford's  letter,  and  of  course  Eugene  had  no 
kind  of  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  it.  Now, 
it  had  been  all  very  well  to  be  magnanimous 
and  propose  to  give  his  friend  a  chance  when 
he  thought  the  pear  was  only  waiting  to  drop 
into  his  hand  ;  magnanimity  appeared  at  once 
safe  and  desirable,  and  there  was  no  strong 
motive  to  counteract  Eugene's  love  for  Staf- 
ford. Matters  were  rather  different  when  it 
appeared  that  the  pear  was  not  waiting  to 
drop — when,  on  the  contrary,  the  pear  had 
pointedly  removed  itself  from  the  hand  of  the 
plucker,  and  seemed,  if  one  may  vary  the 
metaphor,  to  have  turned  into  a  prickly  pear. 
Eugene  still  believed  that  Claudia  loved  him  ; 
but  he  saw  that  she  was  stung  by  his  appar- 
ent neglect,  and  perhaps  still  more  by  the  idea 
that  in  his  view  he  had  only  to  ask  at  any  time 
in  order  to  have.  When  ladies  gather  that 
impression,  they  think  it  due  to  their  self-re- 
spect to  make  themselves  very  unpleasant, 
and  Eugene  did  not  feel  sure  how  far  this  feel- 
ing might  not  carry  Claudia's  quick,  fiery  nat- 
ure, more  especially  if  she  were  offered  a 
chance  of  punishing  Eugene  by  accepting  a 
suitor  who  was  in  ma.iy  ways  an  object  of  her 
admiration  and  regard,  and  came  to  her  with 
an   indubitable  halo  of  romance  about  him.: 


j  64  FA  THER  S TA FFORD. 

Eugene  felt  that  his  consideration  for  Stafford 
might,  perhaps,  turn  out  to  be  more  than  a 
graceful  tribute  to  friendship  ;  it  might  mean 
a  real  sacrifice,  a  sacrifice  of  immense  gravity  ; 
and  he  did  what  most  people  would  do — he 
reconsidered  the  situation. 

The  matter  was  not,  to  his  thinking,  compli- 
cated by  anything  approaching  to  an  implied 
pledge  on  his  part.  Of  course  Stafford  had  not 
looked  upon  him  as  a  possible  rival  ;  his  en- 
gagement to  Kate  Bernard  had  seemed  to  put 
him  hors  de  combat.  But  he  had  been  equally 
entitled  to  regard  Stafford  as  out  of  the  run- 
ning ;  for  surely  Stafford's  vow  was  as  binding 
as  his  promise.  They  stood  on  an  equality  : 
neither  could  reproach  the  other — that  is  to 
say,  each  had  matter  of  reproach  against  the 
other,  but  his  mouth  was  closed.  There  was 
then  only  friendship — only  the  old  bond  that 
nothing  was  to  come  between  them.  Did 
this  bond  carry  with  it  the  obligation  of  stand- 
ing on  one  side  in  such  a  case  as  this  ?  More- 
over, time  was  precious.  If  he  failed  to  seek 
out  Claudia  that  very  day,  she,  knowing  he 
was  at  Territon  Park,  would  be  justly  ag- 
grieved by  a  new  proof  of  indifference  or  dis- 
respect. And  yet,  if  he  were  to  wait  for 
Stafford,  that  day  must  go  by  without  his 
visit.  Eugene  had  hitherto  lived  pleasantly 
by  means  ot  never  asking  too  much  of  himself, 
and  in  consequence  being  always  tolerably 
equal  to  his  own  demands  upon  himself. 
Quixotism  was  not  to  be  expected  of  him.     A 


K  AITISG  LADY  CLAUDIA'S  PLEASURE,     jft. 

nice  observance  of  honor  was  as  much  as 
he  would  be  likely  to  attain  to  ;  and  friend- 
ship would  be  satisfied  if  he  gave  the  doubt- 
ful points  against  himself. 

He  sat  down  after  breakfast,  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Stafford. 

After  touching  very  lightly  on  Stafford's 
position,  and  disclaiming  not  only  any  right 
to  judge,  but  also  any  inclination  to  blame, 
he  went  on  to  tell  in  some  detail  the  change 
that  had  occurred  in  his  own  situation,  avowed 
his  intention  of  gaining  Claudia's  hand  if  he 
could,  clearly  implied  his  knowledge  that 
Stafford's  heart  was  set  on  the  same  object, 
and  ended  with  a  warm  declaration  that  the 
rivalry  between  them  did  not  and  should  not 
alter  his  love,  and  that,  if  unsuccessful,  he 
could  desire  to  be  beaten  by  no  other  man 
than  Stafford.  He  added  more  words  of 
friendship,  told  Stafford  that  he  should  try  his 
luck  as  soon  as  might  be,  and  that  he  had 
Rickmansworth's  authority  to  tell  him  that,  if 
he  saw  proper  to  come  down  for  the  same 
purpose,  his  coming  would  not  be  regarded 
as  an  intrusion  by  the  master  of  the  house. 

Then  he  went  and  obtained  the  authority 
he  had  pledged,  and  sent  his  servant  up  to 
London  with  the  letter,  with  instructions  to 
deliver  it  instantly  into  Stafford's  own  hand. 
His  distrust  in  the  integrity  of  the  postmaster's 
daughter  in  such  a  matter  prevented  his 
sending  any  further  message  by  the  wires 
than  one  requesting  Stafford  to  be  at  home  to 


i66 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


receive  his  letter  between  twelve  and  one, 
when  his  messenger  might  be  expected  to 
arrive. 

With  a  conscience  clear  enough  for  all 
practical  purposes,  he  then  mounted  his 
horse,  rode  over  to  the  Dower  House,  and  sent 
in  his  card  to  Lady  Julia  Territon.  Lady 
Julia  was  probably  well  posted  up  ;  at  any 
rate,  she  received  him  with  kindness  and 
without  surprise,  and,  after  the  proper  amount 
of  conversation,  told  him  she  believed  he 
would  find  Claudia  in  the  morning-room. 
Would  he  stay  to  lunch  ?  and  would  he  excuse 
her  if  she  returned  to  her  occupations  ? 
Eugene  prevaricated  about  the  lunch,  for  the 
invitation  was  obviously,  though  tacitly,  a 
contingent  one,  and  conceded  the  lady's  ex- 
cuses with  as  respectable  a  show  of  sincerity 
as  was  to  be  expected.  Then  he  turned  his 
steps  to  the  morning-room,  declining  an- 
nouncement, and  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  come  in,"  said  Claudia,  in  a  tone 
that  clearly  implied,  "  if  you  won't  let  me 
alone  and  stay  outside." 

"  Perhaps  she  doesn't  know  who  it  is," 
thought  Eugene,  trying  to  comfort  himself  as 
he  opened  the  door. 


CLAUDIA   IS  VEXED  WITH  MANKIND. 


167 


CHAPTER  XII. 

XaDs  Claudia  is  DcieD  vvitb  /l&anftinO. 


'f//*§^$fi  course  she  knew  who  it  was,  and 


I  her  uninviting  tone  was  a  result 
skllfP'4  °f  ner  knowledge.  We  are  yet 
awaiting  a  systematic  treatise  on 
the  psychology  of  women  ;  perhaps  they  will 
some  day  be  trained  highly  enough  to  analyze 
themselves.  Until  this  happens,  we  must  wait  ; 
for  no  man  unites  the  experience  and  the  tem- 
perament necessary.  This  could  be  proved, 
if  proof  were  required  ;  but,  happily,  proof  of 
assertions  is  not  always  required,  and  proof  of 
this  one  would  lead  us  into  a  long  digression, 
bristling  with  disputable  matter,  and  requiring 
perhaps  hardly  less  rare  qualities  than  the 
task  of  writing  the  treatise  itself.  The  modest 
scribe  is  reduced  to  telling  how  Claudia  be- 
haved, without  pretending  to  tell  why  she  be- 
haved so,  far  less  attempting  to  group  her  under 
a  general  law.  He  is  comforted  in  thus  taking 
a  lower  place  by  the  thought  that  after  all  no- 
body likes  being  grouped  under  general  laws — 
it  is  more  interesting  to  be  peculiar — and  that 
Claudia  would  have  regarded  such  an  attempt 
with    keen    indignation  ;    and  by    the   further 


j gg  FATHER  STAFFORD, 

thought  that  if  you  once  start  on  general  laws, 
there's  no  telling  where  you  will  stop.  The 
moment  you  get  yours  nicely  formulated,  your 
neighbor  comes  along  with  a  wider  one,  and 
reduces  it  to  a  subordinate  proposition,  or  even 
to  the  humiliating  status  of  a  mere  example. 
Now  even  philosophers  lose  their  temper  when 
this  occurs,  whde  ordinary  mortals  resort  to 
abuse.  These  dangers  and  temptations  may 
be  conscientiously,  and  shall  be  scrupulously, 
avoided. 

Eugene  advanced  into  the  room  with  all  the 
assurance  he  could  muster  ;  he  could  muster 
a  good  deal,  but  he  felt  he  needed  it  every  bit, 
for  Claudia's  aspect  was  not  conciliatory. 
She  greeted  him  with  civility,  and  in  reply  to 
his  remark  that  being  in  the  neighborhood  he 
thought  he  might  as  well  call,  expressed  her 
gratification  and  hinted  her  surprise  at  his  re- 
membering to  do  so.  She  then  sat  down,  and 
for  ten  minutes  by  the  clock  talked  fluently 
and  resolutely  about  an  extraordinary  variety 
of  totally  uninteresting  things.  Eugene  used 
this  breathing-space  to  recover  himself.  He 
said  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  but  waited 
patiently  for  Claudia  to  run  down.  She  strug- 
gled desperately  against  exhaustion  ;  but  at 
last  she  could  not  avoid  a  pause.  Eugene's 
generalship  had  foreseen  that  this  opening  was 
inevitable.  Like  Fabius  he  waited,  and  like 
Fabius  he  struck. 

"  I  have  been  so  completely  out  of  the  world 
. — out  of  my  own  world —  for  the  last  month 


CLAUDIA  IS  VEXED  WITH  MANKIND.     j5q 

that  I  know  nothing.  Didn't  even  have  my 
letters  sent  on." 

"  Fancy  !  "  said  Lady  Claudia. 

"  I  wish  I  had  now." 

Claudia  was  meant  to  say  "Why?"  She 
didn't,  so  he  had  to  make  the  connection  for 
himself. 

"  I  found  one  letter  waiting  for  me  that  was 
most  important." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Claudia,  with  polite  but  obvi- 
ously fatigued  interest. 

"  It  was  from  Miss  Bernard." 

"  Fancy  not  having  her  letters  sent  on  !  " 

"  You  know  what  was  in  that  letter,  Lady 
Claudia  ? " 

*'  Oh,  yes  ;  Rickmansworth  told  me.  I 
don't  know  if  he  ought  to  have.  I  am  so  very 
sorry,  Mr.  Lane." 

"  From  not  getting  the  letter,  I  didn't  know 
for  a  month  that  I  was  free.  I  needn't  shrink 
from  calling  it  freedom." 

"  As  you  were  in  America,  it  couldn't  make 
much  difference  whether  you  knew  or  not." 

"  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  didn't  know." 

"  Really  you  are  very  kind." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  think " 

*'  Pray,  what  ?  "  asked  Claudia,  in  suspi- 
ciously calm  tones. 

Eugene  was  conscious  he  was  not  putting 
it  in  the  happiest  possible  way  ;  however, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  on  now. 

"Why,  that — why,  Claudia,  that  I  shouldn't 
rush  to  you  the  moment  I  was  free." 


j-0  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

Claudia  was  sitting  on  a  sofa,  "and  as  he 
said  this  Eugene  came  up  and  leant  his  hands 
on  the  back  of  it.  He  thought  he  had  done  it 
rather  well  at  last.  To  his  astonishment,  she 
leapt  up. 

"  This  is  too  much  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Why,  what  ?  "  exclaimed  poor  Eugene. 

"  To  come  and  tell  me  to  my  face  that 
you're  afraid  I've  been  crying  for  you  for  a 
month  past  ! " 

"  Of  course  I  don't  mean " 

"  Do  I  look  very  ill  and  worn  ?  "  demanded 
Claudia,  with  elaborate  sarcasm.  "  Have  I 
faded  away  ?  Make  your  mind  easy,  Mr. 
Lane.  You  will  not  have  another  girl's  death 
at  your  door." 

Eugene  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  stare  at 
the  ceiling  and  exclaim,  "  Good  God  !  " 

This  appeared  to  add  new  fuel  to  the 
flame. 

"  You  come  and  tell  a  girl — all  but  in  words 
tell  her — she  was  dying  for  love  of  you  when 
you  were  engaged  to  another  girl  ;  dying  to 
hear  from  you  ;  dying  to  have  you  propose  to 
her  !  And  when  she's  mildly  indignant  you 
use  some  profane  expression,  just  as  if  you 
had  stated  the  most  ordinary  facts  in  the 
world  !  I  am  infinitely  obliged  for  your  com- 
passion, Mr.  Lane." 

"  I  meant  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  only  meant 
that  considering  what  had  passed  between 
us " 

"  Passed  between  us  ? 


CLAUDIA  IS  VEXED  WITH  MANKIND,     jyj 

«•  Well,  yes  at  Millstead,  you  know." 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  me  I  said  anything 
then,  when  I  knew  you  were  engaged  to  Kate  ? 
1  suppose  you  will  stop  short  of  that  ? 

Eugene  wisely  abandoned  this  line  oi  argu- 
ment. After  all,  most  of  the  talking  had  been 
on  his  side. 

•  "  Why  will  you  quarrel,  Claudia  ?  I  came 
here  in  as  humble  a  frame  of  mind  as  ever 
man  came  in." 

"  Your  humility,  Mr.  Lane,  is  a  peculiar 
quality." 

"  Won't  you  listen  to  me  ?" 

"  Have  I  refused  to  listen  ?  But  no,  I  don't 
want  to  listen  now.  You  have  made  me  too 
angry." 

"  Oh,  but  do  listen  just  a  little " 

Claudia  suddenly  changed  her  tone — indeed, 
her  whole  demeanor. 

"Not  to-day,"  she  said  beseechingly; 
"  really,  not  to-day.  I  won't  tell  you  why  ; 
but  not  to-day." 

"  No  time  like  the  present,"  suggested 
Eugene. 

"  Do  you  know  there  is  something  you 
don't  allow  for  in  women  ?  " 

"So  it  seems.     What  is  that?  " 

"Just  a  little  pride.  No,  I  will  not  listen 
to  you  !  "  she  added  with  an  imperious  little 
stamp  ot  her  foot,  and  a  relapse  into  hos- 
tility. 

"  May  I  come  again  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 


j  7  2  F-<4  77/.E/?  .S1  TA  FFORD. 

Eugene  was  not  a  patient  man.  He  al- 
lowed himself  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  Are  you  about  to  congratulate  me  on 
having  ■  bagged  '  another  ?  " 

"  You're  entirely  hopeless  to-day,  and  en- 
tirely charming  !  "  he  said.  "If  any  girl  but 
you  had  treated  me  like  this,  I'd  never  come 
near  her  again." 

Claudia  looked  daggers. 

"  Pray  don't  make  me  an  exception  to  your 
usual  rule." 

"  As  it  is,  I  shall  go  away  now  and  come 
back  presently.  You  may  then  at  least  listen 
to  me.  That's  all  I've  asked  you  to  do  so 
far," 

"  I  am  bound  to  do  that.  I  will  some  day. 
But  do  go  now." 

"  I  will  directly  ;  but  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  about  something  else." 

■'  Anything  else  in  the  world  !  And  on  any 
other  subject  I  will  be — charming — to  you. 
Sit  down.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  about  Stafford." 

"  Your  friend  Father  Stafford  ?  What 
about  him  ? " 

"  He's  coming  down  here." 

"  Oh,  how  nice  !  It  will  be  a  pleasant  rel — 
resource." 

Eugene  smiled. 

"  Don't  mind  saying  what  you  mean — or 
even  what  you  don't  mean  ;  that  generally 
gives  people  greater  pleasure." 

"You're  making  me  angry  again." 


CLAUDIA   IS  VEXED  IVITH  MANKIND,     jy, 

"  But  what  do  you  think  he's  coming 
for  ? " 

"  To  see  you,  I  suppose." 

"  On  the  contrary.     To  see  you." 

"  Pray  don't  be  absurd." 

"  It's  gospel  truth,  and  very  serious.  He 
is  in  love  with  you.  No — wait,  please.  You 
must  forgive  my  speaking  of  it.  But  you 
ought  to  know." 

"  Father  Stafford  ?  " 

"  No  other." 

"  But  he — he's  not  going  to  marry  anybody, 
He's  taken  a  vow." 

"  Yes.  He's  going  to  break  it — if  you'll 
help  him." 

"  You  wouldn't  make  fun  of  this.  Is  it 
true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  desperately  true.  Now,  I'm  not 
going  to  tell  you  any  more,  or  say  anything 
more  about  it.  He'll  come  and  plead  his  own 
cause.  If  you'd  treated  me  differently,  I 
might  have  stopped  him.  As  it  is,  he  must 
come  now." 

"  Why  do  you  assume  I  don't  want  him  to 
come  ?  " 

"  I  assume  nothing.  I  don't  know  whether 
you'll  make  him  happy  or  treat  him  as  you've 
treated  me." 

"  I  shan't  treat  him  as  I've  treated  you. 
Eugene  ;  is  he — is  he  very  unhappy  about  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  poor  devil  !  "  said  Eugene  bitterly. 
"  He's  ready  to  give  up  this  world  and  the 
next  for  you." 


j * 4  FATHER  STAFFORD., 

"You  think  that  strange  ?  " 
Eugene  shook  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"  '  A  man  had  given  all  other  bliss 
And  all  his  worldly  worth,'  " 

he  quoted.  "  Stafford  would  give  more  than 
that.     Good-morning,  Lady  Claudia." 

"  Good-by,"  she  said.  "  When  is  he 
coming  ?  " 

"  To-day,  I  expect." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Claudia,  if  you  take  him,  you'll  let  me 
know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

She  seemed  so  absent  and  troubled  that  he 
left  her  without  more,  and  made  his  way  to  his 
horse  and  down  the  drive,  without  giving  a 
thought  to  the  contingent  lunch. 

"  She'll  marry  me  if  she  doesn't  marry  him," 
he  thought.  "  But,  I  say,  I  did  make  rather 
an  ass  of  myself  !  "  And  he  laughed  gently  and 
ruefully  over  Claudia's  wrath  and  his  own 
method  of  wooing.  He  would  have  laughed 
much  the  same  gentle  and  rueful  laugh  over 
his  own  hanging,  had  such  an  unreasonable 
accident  befallen  him. 

So  far  as  the  main  subject  of  the  interview 
was  concerned,  Claudia  was  well  pleased  with 
herself.  Her  indignation  had  responded  very 
satisfactorily  to  her  call  upon  it  and  had  en- 
abled her  to  work  off  on  Eugene  her  resent- 
ment, not  only  for  his  own  sins,  but  also  for 
annoyances  for  which  he  could  not  fairly  be 


CLAUDIA  IS  VEXED  WITH  MANKIND,     j^r 

held  responsible.  A  patient  lover  must  be  a 
most  valuable  safety-valve.  And  although 
Eugene  was  not  the  most  patient  of  his  kind, 
Claudia  did  not  think  that  she  had  put  more 
upon  him  than  he  was  able  to  bear — certainly 
not  more  than  he  deserved  to  bear.  She 
would  have  dearly  loved  the  luxury  of  refus- 
ing him,  and  although  she  had  not  been  able 
to  make  up  her  mind  to  this  extreme  measure, 
she  had,  at  least,  succeeded  in  infusing  a  spice 
of  difficulty  into  his  wooing.  She  was  so  con- 
tent with  the  aspect  of  affairs  in  this  direction 
that  it  did  not  long  detain  her  thoughts,  and 
she  found  herself  pondering  more  on  the  dis- 
closure Eugene  had  made  of  Stafford's  feel- 
ings than  on  his  revelation  of  his  own.  It 
is  difficult,  without  the  aid  of  subtle  distinc- 
tions, to  say  exactly  what  degree  of  surprise 
she  felt  at  the  news.  She  must,  no  doubt, 
have  seen  that  Stafford  was  greatly  attracted 
to  her,  and  probably  she  would  have  felt  that 
the  description  of  his  state  of  mind  as  that  of 
a  man  in  love  only  erred  to  the  extent  that  a 
general  description  must  err  when  applied  to 
a  particular  case.  But  she  was  both  surprised 
and  disturbed  at  hearing  that  Stafford  intended 
to  act  upon  his  feelings,  and  the  very  fact  of 
her  power  having  overcome  him  did  him  evil 
service  in  her  thoughts.  The  secret  of  his 
charm  for  her  lay  exactly  in  the  attitude  of  re- 
nunciation that  he  was  now  abandoning.  She 
had  been  half  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  him 
just  because  there  was  no  question  of  his  fall- 


j  *  5  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

ing  in  love  with  her.  Her  feelings  toward 
Eugene,  which  lay  deeper  than  she  confessed, 
had  prevented  her  actually  losing  her  heart, 
or  doing  more  than  contemplate  the  picture 
of  her  romantic  passion,  banned  by  all  manner 
of  awful  sanctions,  as  a  not  uninteresting  possi- 
bility. By  abandoning  his  position  Stafford 
abandoned  one  great  source  of  strength.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  no  doubt  gained  something. 
Claudia  was  not  insensible  to  that  aspect  of 
the  case  which  Ayre  had  apprehended  would 
influence  her  so  powerfully.  She  did  per- 
ceive the  halo  of  romance  ;  and  the  idea  of 
an  Ajax  defying  heavenly  lightning  for  her 
sake  had  its  attractiveness.  But  Ayre  rea- 
soning, as  a  man  is  prone  and  perhaps 
obliged  to  do,  from  himself  to  another,  had 
omitted  to  take  account  of  a  factor  in 
Claudia's  mind  about  the  existence  of  which, 
even  if  it  had  been  suggested  to  him,  he 
would  have  been  profoundly  skeptical. 
Ayre  had  never  been  able,  or  at  least  never 
given  himself  the  trouble,  to  understand  how 
real  a  thing  Stafford's  vow  had  been  to  him, 
and  what  a  struggle  was  necessary  before  he 
could  disregard  it.  He  would  have  been  still 
more  at  a  loss  to  appreciate  the  force  which 
the  same  vow  exercised  over  Claudia.  Staf- 
ford himself  had  strengthened  this  feeling  in 
her.  Although  the  subject  of  celibacy,  and 
celibacy  by  oath,  had  not  been  discussed 
openly  between  them,  yet  in  their  numerous 
conversations  Stafford  had  not  failed  to  respond 


CLAUDIA  IS  VEXED  WITH  MANKIND,     jy- 

to  her  sympathetic  invitations  so  far  as  to 
give  himself  full  liberty  in  descanting  on  the 
excellences  of  the  life  he  had  chosen  for  him- 
self. Every  word  he  had  spoken  in  its  praise 
now  rose  to  condemn  its  betrayal.  And 
Claudia,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  entire 
removal  from  the  spirit  which  made  Ayre  and 
Eugene  treat  Stafford's  vow  as  one  of  the 
picturesque  indiscretions  of  devotion,  was  un- 
able to  look  upon  the  breaking  of  it  in  any 
other  light  than  that  of  a  falsehood  and  an 
act  of  treachery.  Religion  was  to  her  a 
series  of  definite  commands,  and  although  her 
temperament  was  not  such  as  enabled  or  led 
her  to  penetrate  beneath  the  commands  to 
the  reason  of  them,  or  emboldened  her  to 
rely  on  the  latter  rather  than  the  former,  she 
had  never  wavered  in  the  view  that  at  least 
these  commands  may  and  should  be  observed, 
and  that,  above  all,  by  a  man  whose  profes- 
sion it  was  to  inculcate  them.  This  much  of 
genuine  disapproval  of  Stafford's  conduct  she 
undoubtedly  felt  ;  and  there  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  leave  the  matter.  But  in  the 
commanding  interest  of  truth  it  must  be 
added  that  this  genuine  disapproval  was,  un- 
consciously perhaps  to  herself,  strengthened 
by  more  mundane  feelings,  which  would,  if 
analyzed,  have  been  resolved  into  a  sense  of 
resentment  against  Stafford.  He  had  come 
to  her,  as  it  were,  under  talse  pretenses. 
Relying  on  his  peculiar  position,  she  had 
allowed   herself,  without  scruple,  a  freedom 

12 


j  -j  3  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORJJ. 

and  expansion  in  her  relations-  toward  him 
that  she  would  have  condemned,  though  per- 
haps not  abstained  from,  had  he  stood  ex- 
actly where  other  men  stood  ;  and  she  felt 
that,  if  charged  with  encouraging  him  and 
fostering  a  delusion  in  his  mind,  her  defense, 
though  in  reality  a  good  one,  was  not  one 
which  the  world  would  accept  as  justifying 
her.  She  could  not  openly  plead  that  she  had 
flirted  with  him,  because  she  had  never 
thought  he  would  flirt  with  her  ;  or  allowed 
him  to  believe  she  entertained  a  deeper  re- 
gard for  him  than  she  did  because  he  could 
be  supposed  to  feel  none  for  her.  Yet  that 
was  the  truth  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  a  good  de- 
fense. And  Claudia  was  resentful  because 
she  could  not  defend  herself  by  using  it,  and 
her  resentment  settled  upon  the  ultimate 
cause  of  her  perplexities. 

When  Eugene  got  back  to  Territon  Park  he 
was  received  by  the  brothers  with  unaffected 
interest.  They  were  passing  the  morning  in 
an  exhaustive  medical  inspection  of  the  dogs, 
but  they  left  even  this  engrossing  occupation, 
and  sauntered  out  to  meet  him. 

"  Well,  what  luck  ?  "  asked  Rickmans- 
worth. 

"  The  debate  is  adjourned,"  answered 
Eugene. 

"  Did  Clau  make  herself  agreeable  ?  " 

"  Well,  no  ;  in  fact  she  made  herself  as  dis- 
agreeable as  she  knew  how.'* 


CLAUDIA  IS  VEXED  WITH  MANKIND,     jyg 

"  Raised  Cain,  did  she  ?  "  inquired  Bob 
sympathetically. 

"  Something  of  the  sort  ;  but  I  think  it's  all 
right." 

"  You  play  up,  old  man,"  said  Bob. 

•«  Well,  but  what  the  devil  are  we  to  do 
with  this  parson  ?  "  Lord  Rickmansworth  de- 
manded. "  He'll  be  here  after  lunch,  you 
know.  You  are  an  ass,  Eugene,  to  bring  him 
down  !  " 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure,  you  know,  that  he 
won't  persuade  her." 

*'  Why  didn't  you  settle  it  this  morning  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  she  was  impossible  this 
morning." 

"  Oh,  bosh  !  "  said  his  lordship.  "  Now  I'll 
tell  you  what  you  ought  to  have  done " 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  Rick  !  What  do  you  know 
about  it  ?  Stafford  must  try  his  luck,  if  he 
/ikes.  Don't  you  fellows  bother  about  him. 
I'll  see  him  when  he  comes  down." 

"  Would  it  be  infernally  uncivil  if  we  hap- 
pened to  be  out  in  the  tandem  !  "  suggested 
Rickmansworth. 

"  I  expect  he'd  be  rather  glad." 

"  Then  we  will  be  out  in  the  tandem.  If 
you  kill  him,  or  the  other  way,  just  do  it  out- 
side, will  you,  so  as  not  to  make  a  mess  ? 
Now  we'll  lunch,  and  then  Bob,  my  boy,  we'll 
evaporate." 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  when  Stafford 
arrived.  He  had  managed  to  catch  the  1:30 
from  London,  and  must  have  started  the  mo- 


ISO 


FA  THER  STAFFORD, 


ment  he  had  read  his  letter.  He  was  shown 
into  the  billiard-room,  where  Eugene  was 
restlessly  smoking  a  cigar. 

He  came  swiftly  up,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
saying  : 

"  This  is  like  you,  my  dear  old  fellow. 
Not  another  man  in  England  would  have 
done  it." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  replied  Eugene.  "  I  ought 
to  have  done  more." 

"  More  ?     How  ?  " 

"I  ought  to  have  waited  till  you  came  be- 
fore I  went  to  see  her." 

"  No,  no  ;  that  would  have  been  too  much." 

He  was  quite  calm  and  cool  ;  apparently 
there  was  nothing  on  his  mind,  and  he  spoke 
of  Eugene's  visit  as  if  it  concerned  him  little. 

"I  daresay  you're  surprised  at  all  this,"  he 
continued,  "  but  I  can't  talk  about  that  now. 
It  would  upset  me  again.  Beside,  there's  no 
time." 

"Why  no  time  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  straight  over  and  see  her." 

"  My  dear  Charley,  are  you  set  on  going  ?  " 

"Of  course.  I  came  for  that  purpose.  You 
know  how  sorry  I  am  we  are  rivals ;  but 
I  agree  with  what  you  said — we  needn't  be 
enemies." 

"It  wasn't  that  I  meant.  But  you  don't 
ask  how  I  fared." 

"  Well,  I  was  expecting  you  would  tell  me, 
if  there  was  anything  to  tell." 

"  I  went,  you  know,  to  ask  her  to  be  my  wife." 


CLAZJDIA  /-?  y£X£JLr  Hr/iH  MANKIND,     jgj 

Stafford  n«xlaed. 

"  Well,  did  you  ?  * 

"  No,  not  exactly." 

"  I  thought  not." 

"  1  tried  to — I  mean  I  wasn't  *ept  back  by 
loyalty  to  you — you  mustn't  think  thai.  But 
she  wouldn't  let  me." 

"  I  thought  she  wouldn't." 

Eugene  began  to  understand  his  state  of 
mind.  In  another  man  such  confidence  would 
ha-re  made  him  angry  ;  but  he  had  only  pity 
for  Stafford. 

"  I  must  try  and  make  him  understand,"  hs 
thought. 

"Charley,"  he  began,  "I  don't  think  you 
quite  follow,  and  it's  not  very  easy  to  explain. 
She  didn't  refuse  me." 

"Well,  no,  it  you  didn't  ask,"  said  Stafford, 
with  a  slight  smile. 

"  And  she  didn't  stop  me  in — in  that  way. 
Look  here,  old  fellow ;  it's  no  use  beating 
about  the  bush.  I  believe  she  means  to  have 
me." 

Stafford  said  nothing. 

'*  But  I  don't  say  that  to  put  yuu  off  going, 
because  I'm  not  sure.  But  I  believe  she 
does.  And  you  ought  to  know  what  I  think. 
I  tell  you  all  I  know." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  not  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  can't  do  that.  I  only  tell  you  what  I 
believe." 

"  She  said  nothing  of  the  sort  ?  " 

"  No — nothing  explicit." 


x82  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

••  Merely  declined  to  listen  ?  " 
"  Yes — but  in  a  way." 

"  My  dear  Eugene,  aren't  you  deceiving 
yourself?  " 

"  I  think  not.  I  think,  you  know,  you're 
deceiving  yourself." 

They  looked  at  one  another,  and  suddenly 
both  men  smiled. 

"  I  want  to  spare  you,"  said  Eugene  ;  "but 
it  sounds  a  little  absurd." 

"The  sooner  I  go  the  better,"  said  Stafford. 
"I  must  tell  you,  old  fellow,  I  go  in  confident 
hope.     If  I  am  wrong " 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  Everything  is  over !  Would  you  feel 
that?" 

Eugene  was  always  honest  with  Stafford. 
He  searched  his  heart. 

"  I  should  be  cut  up,"  he  said.  "  But  no — ■ 
not  that." 

Stafford  smiled  sadly. 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  do  things  by  halves  !" 
he  exclaimed. 

"  You  will  come  back  ?  " 

"  I'll  leave  a  line  for  you  as  I  go  by.  What- 
ever happens,  you  have  treated  me  well." 

"  Good-by,  old  man.  I  can't  say  good  luck. 
When  shall  I  see  you  ?  " 

"  That  depends,"  said  Stafford. 

Eugene  showed  him  the  road  to  the  Dower 
House,  and  he  set  out  at  a  brisk  walk. 


LOVER'S  FATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,  jg^ 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
B  Dover's  ffate  anfc  a  ffrfeno's  Counsel. 

|T  was  about  half-past  three  when 
Stafford  left  Territon  Park  ;  about 
I  the  same  hour  Claudia  sallied  forth 
from  the  Dower  House  to  take  her 
constitutional.  When  two  people  start  to 
walk  at  the  same  time  from  opposite  ends  of 
the  same  road,  barring  accidents,  they  meet 
somewhere  about  the  middle.  In  accordance 
with  this  law,  when  Claudia  was  about  two 
miles  from  home,  walking  along  the  path 
through  the  dense  woods  of  Territon  Park,  she 
saw  Stafford  coming  toward  her.  There  were 
no  means  of  escape,  and  with  a  sigh  ot  resigna- 
tion she  sat  down  on  a  rustic  seat  and  awaited 
his  approach.  He  saw  her  as  soon  as  she 
saw  him,  and  came  up  to  her  without  any 
embarrassment. 

•*  I  am  lucky,"  he  said,  "  I  was  going  over 
to  see  you." 

Claudia  had  given  some  thought  to  this 
interview  and  had  determined  on  her  best 
course. 

"  Mr.  Lane  told  me  you  were  coming." 
Dear  old  Eugene  ! " 


184 


FA  THER  STAFFORD. 


"  But  I  hoped  you  would  not." 

"  Don't  let  us  begin  at  the  end.  I  haven't 
seen  you  since  I  left  Millstead.  Were  you 
surprised  at  my  going  ?  " 

'*  I  was  rather  surprised  at  the  way  you 
went." 

"  I  thought  you  would  understand  it.  Now, 
honestly,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  did." 

"  I  thought  so.  You  had  seen  what  I  only 
saw  that  very  night.     You  understood " 

"Please,  Father  Stafford " 

«•  Say  Mr.  Stafford." 

"  No.  I  know  you  as  Father  Stafford,  and 
I  like  that  best." 

"  As  you  will — for  the  present.  You  knew 
how  I  stood.  You  saw  I  loved  you — no,  I  am 
going  on — and  yet  felt  myself  bound  not  to  tell 
you." 

"  I  saw  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  never 
entered  my  head." 

"  Claudia,  is  it  possible  ?  Did  you  never 
think  of  it  ?  " 

"  As  nothing  more  than  a  possibility — and 
a  very  unhappy  possibility." 

««  Why  unhappy  ?  "  he  asked,  and  his  voice 
was  very  tender. 

"  To  begin  with  :  you  could  never  love  any 
one." 

"  I  have  swept  all  that  on  one  side.  That 
is  over." 

"  How  can  it  be  over  ?     You  had  sworn." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  is  over." 


LOVER'S  PATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,  jg* 

"  Dare  you  break  your  vow  ?  " 

"  If  I  dare,  who  else  dare  question  me  ? 
Have  I  not  counted  the  cost  ?  " 

"  Nothing  can  make  it  right." 

"Why  talk  of  that?  It  is  my  sin  and  my 
concern." 

"  You  destroy  all  my  esteem  for  you." 

"  I  ask  for  love,  not  for  esteem.  Esteem 
between  you  and  me  !  I  love  you  more  than 
all  the  world." 

"  Ah  !  don't  say  that  !  " 

"  Yes,  more  than  my  soul.  And  you  talk 
of  esteem  !  Ah  !  you  don't  know  what  a 
man's  love  is." 

"  I  never  thought  of  you  as  making  love." 

"  I  think  now  of  nothing  else.  Why  should 
I  trouble  you  with  my  struggles  ?  Now  I  am 
Tree  to  love — and  you,  Claudia,  are  free  to  re- 
turn my  love." 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Stafford.  "But  you  knew  my 
promise,  and  did  not  let  yourself  see  your  own 
feelings.  Ah,  Claudia  !  if  it  is  only  the  prom- 
ise !  " 

"It  isn't  only  the  promise.  You  have  no 
right  to  speak  like  that.  I  should  never  have 
done  as  I  did  if  I'd  even  thought  of  you  like 
that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  it's  not  only 
the  promise  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  I  don't  love  you — I  never  did 
— oh,  what  a  wretched  thing  !  "  And  she  rose 
and  paced  about,  clasping  her  hands. 


jgg  FATHER  STAFFORD       ■ 

Stafford  was  very  pale  now,  but  very  quiet. 

"  You  never  loved  me  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  But  you  will.     You  must,  when  you  know 
my  love " 

"  No." 

"  Yes,  but  you  will.     Let  me  tell  you  what 
you  are " 

"  No,  I  never  can." 

"Is  it  true?     Why?" 

"  Because — oh  !  don't  you  see  ?" 

"  No.     Wasn't   it   because   you    loved    me 
that  you  wouldn't  let  Eugene  speak  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  " 

"  Claudia,"    he    cried,    clasping    her    wrist, 
"  were  you  playing  with  him  ? " 

No  answer  seemed  possible  but  the  truth. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  bowing  her  head. 

"  And  playing  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,    that's     unjust.       I    never    did.       I 
thought " 

••  You  thought  I  was  beyond  hurt  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.     You  set  up  to  be." 

"  Yes,  I  set  up  to  be,"  he  said  bitterly. 

«•  And  the  truth — in  God's  name  let  us  have 
truth — is  that  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  Have  you  no  pity  ?     Why    do   you    press 
me  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  press  you  ;  God  forbid  I  should 
trouble  you  !     But  is  this  the  end  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

<•  It    is    final — no    hope  ?     Think   what  it 
means  to  me." 


LOVER'S  FATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,   jgj 

"  If  I  do  care  for  Mr.  Lane,  is  this  friendly 
to  him  ? 

"  I  am  beyond  friendship,  as  I  am  beyond 
conscience.  Claudia,  turn  to  me.  No  man 
ever  loved  as  I  do." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  said  :  "  I  can't  help 
it  !  " 

Stafford  sank  down  on  the  seat  and  sat  there 
for  a  moment  without  speaking.  Claudia  was 
awed  at  the  look  on  his  face. 

"  Don't  look  like  that !  "  she  cried.  '*  You 
look  like  a  man  lost." 

"  Yes,  lost  !  "  he  echoed.  "  All  lost — all 
lost — and  for  nothing  !  " 

Silence  followed  for  a  long  time.  Then  he 
roused  himself,  and  looked  at  her.  Claudia's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  It's  not  your  fault,  my  sweet  lady,"  he 
said  gently.  "  You  are  pure  and  bright  and 
beautiful,  as  you  ever  were,  and  I  have  raved 
and  frightened  you.     Well,  I  will  go." 

"  Go  where  ?  " 

"  Where  ?     I  don't  know  yet." 

"  I  am  so  very,  very  sorry.  But  you  must 
try — you  must  forget  about  it." 

He  smiled. 

'*  Yes,  I  must  forget  about  it." 

««  You  will  be  yourself  again — your  old 
self — not  weak  like  this,  but  giving  others 
strength." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  again,  humoring  her. 

"  Surely  you  can  do  it — you  who  had  such 
Strength.     And  don't  think  hardly  of  me." 


j 38  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  I  think  of  you  as  I  used  to  think  of  God," 
he  said  ;  and  bent  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  hush  ! "  she  cried.      "  Pray  don't  !  " 

He  kissed  her  hand  once  again,  and  then 
straightened  himself,  and  said  : 

"  Now  I  am  going.  You  must  forget — • 
or  remember  Millstead,  not  Territon.  And 
I " 

"  Yes,  and  you  ? 

"  I  will  go,  too,  where  I  may  find  forgetful- 
ness.     Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Claudia,  and  gave  him  her 
hand  again,  her  heart  full  of  pity  and  almost 
of  love.  He  turned  on  his  heel,  and  she  stood 
and  watched  him  go.  For  a  moment  a  sud- 
den thought  flashed  through  her  head. 

"  Shall  I  call  him  back  ?  Shall  I  ever  find 
such  love  as  his  ?  " 

She  started  a  step  forward,  but  stopped 
again. 

"No,  I  do  not  love  him,"  she  said.  "And 
I  do  love  my  careless  Eugene.  But  God  com- 
fort him  !     O  God,  comfort  him  !  " 

And  so  standing  and  praying  for  him,  she 
let  him  go. 

And  he  went,  with  no  falter  in  his  step  and 
never  a  look  backward.  This  thing  also  had 
he  set  behind  him. 

Claudia  still  stood  fixed  on  the  spot  where 
he  had  left  her.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the 
seat,  and  gave  herself  up  to  memories  ot  their 
walks  and  talks  at  Millstead. 

"  Why  need  he  spoil    it  all  ?  "    she  cried. 


LOVER'S  FATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,   jg- 

"  Why  need  he  give  me  a  sad  memory,  when 
I  had  such  a  pleasant  one  ?  Oh,  how  foolish 
they  are  !  What  a  pity  it's  Eugene,  and  not 
him  !  Eugene  would  never  have  looked  like- 
that.  He'd  have  made  a  bitter  little  speech, 
and  then  a  pretty  little  speech,  and  smoothed 
his  feathers  and  flown  away.  But  still  it  is 
Eugene !  Oh,  dear,  I  shall  never  be  quite 
happy  again  !  " 

We  may  reasonably,  nay  confidently,  hope 
that  this  was  looking  at  the  black  side  of  things. 
It  is  pleasant  to  act  a  little  to  ourselves  now 
and  then.  The  little  pieces  are  thrilling,  and 
they  don't  last  much  longer  than  their  coun- 
terparts upon  the  stage.  With  most  of  us  the 
curtain  falls  very  punctually,  leaving  time  for 
a  merry  supper,  where  we  forget  the  headache 
and  the  thousand  natural  and  unnatural  ills 
that  passed  in  our  sight  before  the  green  baize 
let  fall  its  merciful  veil. 

Stafford  pursued  his  way  through  the  woods. 
Arriving  at  the  lodge  gates,  he  stopped  ab- 
ruptly, remembering  his  promise  to  Eugene. 
He  saw  a  little  fellow  playing  about,  and  called 
to  him. 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Lane,  my  boy?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  child. 

"Then  I'll  give  you  something  to  take  to 
him." 

He  took  a  card  out  of  his  pocket  and  wrote 
on  it  :  "  You  were  right.  I  am  going  to 
London  " ;  and  giving  it,  with   a  sixpence,  to 


j  q  0  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD. 

his  messenger,  resumed  his  journey  to  the 
station. 

He  was  stunned.  It  cannot  be  denied  that 
he  had  been  blindly  hopeful,  blindly  confident. 
He  had  persuaded  himself  that  his  love  for 
Claudia  could  be  nothing  but  the  outcome  of 
a  natural  bond  between  them  that  must  pro- 
duce a  like  feeling  in  her.  He  had  attributed 
to  her  the  depth  and  intensity  of  emotion  that 
he  found  in  himself.  He  had  seen  in  her  not 
merely  a  girl  of  more  than  common  quickness, 
and  perhaps  more  than  common  capacity,  but 
a  great  nature  ready  to  respond  to  a  great 
passion  in  another.  She  had  much  to  give  to 
the  man  she  loved  ;  but  Stafford  asked  even 
more  than  was  hers  to  bestow.  He  had  de- 
ceived himself,  and  the  delusion  was  still  upon 
him.  He  was  conscious  only  of  an  utter, 
hopeless  void.  He  had  removed  all  to  make 
room  for  Claudia,  and  Claudia  refused  to  fill 
the  vacant  place.  With  all  the  will  in  the 
world  she  could  not  have  filled  it  ;  but  no 
such  thought  as  this  came  to  console  Stafford. 
He  saw  his  joy,  but  was  forbidden  to  reach 
out  his  hand  and  pluck  it.  His  life  lay  in  the 
hollow  of  her  hand,  to  grant  or  withhold,  and 
she  had  closed  her  grasp  upon  it. 

He  did  not  rest  until  he  reached  his  hotel, 
for  he  felt  a  longing  to  be  able  to  sit  down 
quietly  and  think  it  all  over.  He  fancied  that 
when  he  reached  his  own  little  room,  the  cloud 
that  now  seemed  to  hang  over  all  his  faculties 
would  disperse,  and  he  would  see  some  plain 


LOVER'S  FATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,  jgj 

road  before  him.  In  this  he  was  not  alto- 
gether disappointed,  for  it  did  become  clear 
to  him,  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  that  the  question 
he  had  to  solve  was  whether  he  could  now 
find  any  motive  strong  enough  to  keep  him  in 
life.  He  realized  that  Claudia's  action  must 
be  accepted  as  a  final  destruction  of  his  short 
dream  of  happiness.  He  felt  that  he  could 
not  go  back  to  his  old  life,  much  less  to  his 
old  attitude  of  mind,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened— as  if  he  were  an  unchanged  man,  save 
for  one  sorrowful  memory.  The  transform- 
ation had  been  too  thorough  for  that.  He 
had  almost  hoped  that  he  would  find  himself 
the  subject  of  some  sudden  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing, some  uncontrollable  fit  of  remorse,  which 
would  restore  him,  beaten  and  bruised,  to  his 
old  refuge  ;  but  had  his  hope  been  realized, 
his  sense  of  relief  would,  he  knew,  have  been 
mingled  with  a  measure  of  contempt  for  a 
mind  so  completely  a  prey  to  transient  emo- 
tions. His  nature  was  not  of  that  sort,  and 
he  could  not  by  a  spasm  of  penitence  nullify 
the  events  of  the  last  few  months.  He  must 
accept  himself  as  altered  by  what  he  had  gone 
through.  Was  there,  then,  any  life  left  for 
the  man  he  was  now  ? 

Undoubtedly,  the  easiest  thing  was  to  bid  a 
quiet  good-by  to  the  life  he  had  so  misman- 
aged. He  had  never  in  old  days  been  wed- 
ded to  life.  He  had  learnt  always  to  regard 
•  it  rather  as  a  necessary  evil  than  as  a  thing 
desirable  in  itself.     Its  momentary  sweetness 


j  q  2  FA  THER  S  TA  FFORD.    , 

left  it  more  bitter  still.  There  would  be  a 
physical  pang,  inevitable  to  a  strong-  man,  full 
of  health.  But  this  he  was  ready  to  face  ; 
and  now,  in  leaving  life  he  would  leave  be- 
hind nothing  he  regretted.  The  religious  con- 
demnation of  suicide,  which  in  former  days 
would  not  have  decided,  but  prevented  such  a 
discussion  in  his  mind,  now  weighed  little 
with  him.  No  doubt  it  would  be  an  act  of 
cowardice  :  but  he  had  been  guilty  of  such 
a  much  more  flagrant  treachery  and  deser- 
tion, that  the  added  sin  seemed  a  small 
matter.  He  felt  that  to  boggle  over  it  would 
be  like  condemning  a  murderer  for  trying  to 
cheat  the  gallows.  But  still,  there  was  the 
natural  dislike  of  an  acknowledgment  of  ut- 
ter defeat ;  and,  added  to  this,  the  bitter  re- 
luctance a  man  of  ability  feels  at  the  idea  of 
his  powers  ceasing  to  be  active,  and  himself 
ceasing  to  be.  The  instinct  of  life  was  strong 
in  him,  though  his  reason  seemed  to  tell  him 
there  was  no  way  in  which  his  life  could  be 
used. 

'*  It's  better  to  go  !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last, 
after  long  hours  of  conflicting  meditation. 

It  was  getting  late  in  the  evening.  Eleven 
o'clock  had  struck,  and  he  thought  he  would 
go  to  bed.  He  was  very  tired  and  worn  out, 
and  decided  to  put  off  further  questions  till 
the  next  day. 

After  all,  there  was  no  hurry.  He  knew 
the  worst  now  ;  the  blow  had  been  struck, 
and   only  the   dull,  unending   pain  was  with 


LONER'S   FATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL.   IO» 

him — and  would  be  till  the  hour  came  when 
he  should  free  himself  from  it.  He  resolutely 
turned  his  mind  away  from  Claudia.  He 
coukl  not  bear  to  think  about  her.  If  only  he 
could  manage  to  think  about  nothing  for  an 
hour,  sleep  would  come. 

He  rose  to  take  his  candle,  but  at  the  same 
moment  a  waiter  opened  the  door. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  To  see  me  ?     Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  He  says  his  name's  Ayre,  and  he  hopes 
you'll  see  him." 

"  I  can't  see  him  at  this  time  of  night,"  said 
Stafford,  with  the  petulance  of  weariness. 
Why  did  the  man  bother  him  ? 

But  Ayre  had  followed  close  on  his 
messenger,  and  entered  the  room  as  Stafford 
spoke. 

"  Pray  forgive  me,  Mr.  Stafford, "  he  said, 
"  for  intruding  on  you  so  unceremoniously." 

Stafford  received  him  with  courtesy,  but  did 
not  succeed  in  concealing  his  questioning  as 
to  the  motive  of  the  visit. 

Ayre  took  the  chair  his  host  gave  him. 

'*  You  think  this  a  very  strange  proceeding 
on  my  part,  I  dare  say  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  here  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  wire  from  Eugene  Lane.  I'm 
afraid  I  seem  to  be  taking  a  liberty,  and  that's 
a  thing  I  hate  doing.  But  I  was  most  anxious 
to  see  you." 

"  Has  Eugene  any  news  ?  " 

«•  What  he  says  is  this  :  « It  has  happened 
*3 


!Q4  FA  THER  STAFFORD. 

as  we  feared.  I  am  uneasy  about  him.  Can 
you  see  him  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,  then,  my  fortune  is  known  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  wish  I  had  seen  you  before  you 
went.     Do  you  mind  my  interfering  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  You  could  have  done  no 
good  before." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  it  was  no  use." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  believed  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  bound  to  try  it  for 
yourself.  Now,  you  think  I  don't  understand 
your  feelings." 

"  I  suppose  most  people  think  they  know 
how  a  man  feels  when  he's  crossed  in  love," 
said  Stafford,  trying  to  speak  lightly. 

"That's  not  the  only  thing  with  you." 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  he  replied,  a  little  surprised. 

«*  I  feel  rather  responsible  for  it  all,  you 
know.  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  Morewood's 
showing  you  that  picture." 

"  It  must  have  dawned  on  me  sooner  or 
later." 

**  I  don't  know.  But,  yes — I  expect  so. 
You're  hard  hit." 

Stafford  smiled. 

"  Hard  hit  about  her  ;  and  harder  hit  be- 
cause it  was  a  plunge  to  go  into  it  at  all." 

"  You're  quite  right." 

**  Of  course  I  can't  go  into  that  side  of  it 
very  much,  but  I  thmk  I  know  more  or  less 
how  you  feel." 

"  I  really  think  you  do.     It  surprises  me." 


(.OVER'S  FATE  AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,   jg^ 

"  Yes.  But,  Stafford,  may  I  go  on  taking 
liberties  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you  are  my  friend.  Let  us  put 
that  sort  of  question  out  of  the  way.  Why 
have  you  come  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  saying  he's  uneasy 
about  you  ?  " 

"  It's  the  old  fellow's  love  for  me." 

Ayre  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
asked  abruptly  : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  look  round 
yet." 

"Why  should  it  make  any  difference  to 
you  ?  " 

Stafford  was  puzzled.  He  thought  Ayre  had 
really  recognized  the  state  of  his  mind.  He 
was  inclined  to  think  so  still.  But  how,  then, 
could  he  ask  such  a  question  ? 

"  You've  had  your  holiday,"  Ayre  went  on 
calmly,  "  and  a  precious  bad  use  you've  made 
of  it.     Why  not  go  back  to  work  now  ?  " 

"  As  if  nothing  had  happened  ?  "  This  was 
the  very  suggestion  he  had  made  to  himself, 
and  scornfully  rejected. 

"  You  think  you're  utterly  smashed,  of 
course — I  know  what  a  facer  it  can  be — and 
you're  just  the  man  to  take  it  very  hard. 
Stafford,  I'm  sorry."  And  with  a  sudden 
impulse  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Stafford  grasped  it.  The  sympathy  almost 
broke  him  down.  "  She  is  all  the  world  to 
me,"  he  said. 


jq5  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

"  Aye,  but  be  a  man.  You  have  your  work 
to  do." 

"  No,  I  have  no  work  to  do.  I  threw  all 
that  away." 

"  I  expected  you'd  say  that." 

"  I  know,  of  course,  what  you  think  of  it. 
In  your  view,  that  vow  of  mine  was  nonsense 
— a  part  of  the  high-falutin'  way  I  took  every- 
thing in.     Isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  come  here  to  try  and  persuade 
you  to  think  as  I  do  about  such  things.  I  am 
not  so  fond  of  my  position  that  I  need  prose- 
lytize.    But  I  want  you  to  look  into  yours." 

"  Mine  is  only  too  clear.  I  have  given  up 
everything  and  got  nothing.  It's  this  way : 
all  the  heart  is  out  of  me.  If  I  went  back  to 
my  work  I  should  be  a  sham." 

"  I  don't  see  that.     May  I  smoke  ?  " 

He  lighted  a  cigar,  and  sat  quiet  for  a  few 
seconds. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  resumed,  "  you  still  believe 
what  you  used  to  teach  ?  " 

"Certainly;  that  is — yes,  I  believe  it.  But 
it  isn't  part  of  me  as  it  was." 

"  Ah  !  but  you  think  it's  true  ?  " 

"  I  remain  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  dem- 
onstration of  its  truth — only  I  have  lost  the 
faith  that  is  above  knowledge." 

It  was  evidently  only  with  an  effort  that 
Ayre  repressed  a  sarcasm.  Stafford  saw  his 
difficulty. 

"You  don't  follow  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard   it  spoken   of  before.     But, 


LOVER  I  FAIL   AND  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL.  297 

after  all,  it's  beside  the  point.  You  believe 
the  things  so  that,  as  far  as  honesty  goes,  you 
could  still  teach  them  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  should  believe  every  dogma  I 
taught." 

"  Including  the  dogma  that  people  ought  to 
be  good  ? " 

"  Including  that,"  answered  Stafford,  with 
a  smile. 

"  I  don't  see  what  more  you  want,"  said  Sir 
Roderick,  with  an  air  of  finality. 

Stafford  felt  himself,  against  his  will,  grow- 
ing more  cheerful.  In  fact,  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  him  to  exercise  his  brains  once  again,  in- 
stead of  being  the  slave  of  his  emotions. 
Ayre  had  anticipated  such  a  result  from  their 
conversation. 

"Everything  more,"  he  said.  "Personal 
holiness  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  all." 

"  The  best  thing,  I  dare  say."  Ayre  con- 
ceded. "  But  indispensable  ?  Besides,  you 
have  it." 

"  Never  again." 

"  Yes,  I  say — in  all  essentials." 

"  I  can't  do  it.  Ah,  Ayre  !  it's  all  empty  to 
me  now." 

"  For  God's  sake,  be  a  man  !  Is  there 
nothing  on  earth  to  be  but  a  saint  or  a 
husband  ?  " 

Stafford  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Heavens,  man  !  have  you  no  ambition  ? 
Here  you  are,  with  ten  men's  brains,  and  you 
sit — I  don't  know  how  you  sit — in  sackcloth, 


jqg  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

clearly,  but  whether  for  heaven  or  for  Claudia 
I  don't  know.  You  think  it  odd  to  hear  me 
preach  ambition  ?  I'm  a  lazy  devil  ;  but  I 
have  some  power.  Yes,  I'm  in  my  way  a 
power.  I  might  have  been  a  greater.  You 
might  be  a  greater  than  ever  I  could. " 

Stafford  listened. 

"  Do  good  if  you  can,"  Ayre  went  on,  "  and 
you  can.  But  do  something.  Don't  throw 
up  the  sponge  because  you  had  one  fall. 
Make  yourself  something  to  live  for." 

"  In  the  Church  ?  " 

"  Yes — that  suits  you  best.  Your  own 
Church  or  another.  I've  often  wondered  why 
you  don't  try  the  other." 

"I've  been  very  near  trying  it  before  now." 

"It's  a  splendid  field.  Glorious!  You 
might  do  anything." 

Stafford  was  silent,  and  Ayre  sat  regarding 
him  closely. 

"  Use  my  office  for  personal  ambition  ?  "  he 
asked  at  last. 

"  Pray  don't  talk  cant.  Do  some  good 
work,  and  raise  yourself  high  enough  to  do 
more." 

"  I  doubt  that  motive." 

"  Never  mind  the  motive.  Do,  man,  do  ! 
and  don't  puke.  Leave  Eugene  to  lounge 
through  life.  He  does  it  nicely.  You're 
made  for  more." 

Stafford  looked  up  at  him  as  he  laid  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  It's  all  misery,"  he  said. 


LOVER'S  FATE  AND   FRIEND'S  COUNSEL,   jgg 

"  Now,  yes.     But  not  always." 

"  And  it's  not  what  I  meant.' 

"  No,  you  meant  to  be  a  saint.  Many  of 
us  do." 

"  I  feel  what  you  mean,  but  I  have  scruples." 

Ayre  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"You're  not  a  man  of  scruples  really,"  he 
said  ;  "  you'll  get  over  them." 

"  Is  that  a  compliment  ?  " 

"  Depends  on  whom  you  ask.  You'll  think 
of  it  ?  Think  of  what  you  might  do  and  be. 
Now,  I'm  off." 

Stafford  rose  to  show  him  out. 

"  I'm  not  sure  whether  I  ought  to  thank 
you,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  think  of  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  you  won't  kill  yourself  without  see- 
ing me  again  ?  " 

"  You  were  afraid  of  that  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Was  I  wrong  ?  " 

"No." 

"You  won't,  then,  without  seeing  me 
again  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  promise." 

Ayre  found  his  way  downstairs,  and  into 
the  street. 

"  It  will  work,"  he  said  to  himself.  "If  the 
Humane  Society  did  its  duty,  I  should  have 
a  gold  medal.  I  have  saved  a  life  to-night — ■ 
and  a  life  worth  saving." 

And  Stafford,  instead  of  going  to  bed,  sat 
in  his  chair  again,  pondering  the  new  things 
in  his  heart. 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Some  IPeople  are  as  fortunate  as  Zbey 

Reserve  to  be. 

UGENE  LANE  had  been  rather 
puzzled  by  Claudia's  latest  proceed- 
ings. On  the  morrow  of  her  inter- 
view with  Stafford  he  had  received 
from  her  an  incoherent  note,  in  which  she 
took  great  blame  to  herself  for  "  this  unhappy- 
occurrence,"  and  intimated  that  it  would  be 
long  before  she  could  bear  to  discuss  any 
question  pending  between  herself  and  her 
correspondent.  Eugene  was  not  disposed  to 
acquiesce  in  this  decision.  He  had  done  as 
much  as  honor  and  friendship  demanded,  and 
saw  no  reason  why  his  own  happiness  should 
be  longer  delayed  ;  for  he  had  little  doubt  that 
Stafford's  rebuff  meant  his  own  success.  He 
could  not,  however,  persist  in  seeking  Claudia 
after  her  declaration  of  unwillingness  to  be 
sought  ;  and  he  departed  from  Territon  Park 
in  some  degree  of  dudgeon.  All  this  sort  of 
thing  seemed  to  him  to  have  a  touch  of  the 
theater  about  it.  But  Claudia  took  it  seri- 
ously ;  she  did  not  forbid  him  to  write  to  her, 


FOR  TUNA  TE  FE OPLE.  2  Q  r 

but  she  answered  none  of  his  letters,  and  Lord 
Rickmansworth,  whom  he  encountered  at  one 
of  the  October  race-meetings,  gave  him  to 
understand  that  she  was  living  a  life  of  seclu- 
sion at  Territon  Park.  Rickmansworth  openly 
scoffed  at  this  behavior,  and  Eugene  did  not 
know  whether  to  be  pleased  at  finding  his 
views  agreed  with,  or  angry  at  hearing  his 
mistress's  whims  treated  with  fraternal  dis- 
respect. Ultimately,  he  found  himself,  under 
the  influence  of  lunch,  coniciding  with  Rick- 
mansworth's  dictum  that  girls  rather  liked 
making  fools  of  themselves,  and  that  Claudia 
was  no  better  than  the  rest.  It  was  one  of 
Eugene's  misfortunes  that  he  could  not  cherish 
illusions  about  his  friends,  unless  his  feeling 
toward  Stafford  must  be  ranked  as  an  illusion. 
About  the  latter  he  had  heard  nothing,  except 
for  a  short  note  from  Sir  Roderick,  telling  him 
that  no  tragedy  of  a  violent  character  need 
now  be  feared.  He  was  anxious  to  see  Ayre 
and  learn  what  passed,  but  that  gentleman 
had  also  vanished  to  recruit  at  a  German 
bath  after  his  arduous  labors. 

It  was  mid-November  before  any  progress 
was  made  in  the  matter.  Eugene  was  in 
London,  and  so  were  very  many  people,  for 
Parliament  met  in  the  autumn  that  year,  and 
the  season  before  Christmas  was  more  active 
than  usual.  He  had  met  Lladdington  about 
the  House,  and  congratulated  him  with  a  fer- 
vor and  sincerity  that  had  made  the  recipienc 
of    his    blessings    positively    uneasy.       Why 


202 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


should  Lane  be  so  uncommonly  glad  to  get  rid 
of  Kate  ?  thought  the  happy  man  who  had 
won  her  from  him.  It  really  looked  as  if 
there  were  something  more  than  met  the  eye. 
Eugene  detected  this  idea  in  Haddington's 
mind,  and  it  caused  him  keen  amusement. 
Kate  also  he  had  encountered,  and  their  meet- 
ing had  been  marked  by  the  ceremonious 
friendship  demanded  by  the  circumstances. 
The  flavor  of  diplomacy  imparted  to  private 
life  by  these  episodes  had  not,  however,  been 
strong  enough  to  prevent  Eugene  being  very 
bored.  He  was  growing  from  day  to  day 
less  patient  of  Claudia's  invisibility,  and  he 
expressed  his  feeling  very  plainly  one  day  to 
Rickmansworth,  whom  he  happened  to 
encounter  in  the  outer  lobby,  as  the  noble 
lord  was  finding  his  way  to  the  unwonted 
haunt  of  the  House  of  Lords,  thereto  attracted 
by  a  debate  on  the  proper  precautions  it  be- 
hooved the  nation  to  take  against  pleuro- 
pneumonia. 

"  Surprising,"  he  said,  "  what  interesting 
subjects  the  old  buffers  get  hold  of  now  and 
then  !     Come  and  hear  'em,  old  man." 

"  The  Lord  forbid  !  "  said  Eugene.  "  But 
I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  Rick,  about 
Claudia.     I  can't  stand  this  much  longer." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  said  Rickmansworth,  "  if  I 
were  you  ;  but  it  isn't  my  fault." 

"  It's  absurd  treating  me  like  this  because 
of  Stafford's  affair." 

"  Well,    why    don't    you    go    and    call    in 


FORTUNATE  PEOPLE.  20, 

Grosvenor  Square  ?  She's  there  with  Aunt 
Julia." 

"  1  will.     Do  you  think  she'll  see  me  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  know  ;  only  if  I 
wanted  to  see  a  girl,  I  bet  she'd  see  me." 

Eugene  smiled  at  his  friend's  indomitable 
self-confidence,  and  let  him  fly  to  the  arms 
of  pleuro-pneumonia.  He  then  dispensed  with 
his  own  presence  in  his  branch  of  the  Legis- 
lature, and  took  his  way  toward  Grosvenor 
Square,  where  Lord  Rickmansworth's  town 
house  was. 

Lady  Claudia  was  not  at  home.  She  had 
gone  with  her  aunt  earlier  in  the  day  to  give 
Mr.  Morewood  a  sitting.  Mr.  Morewood  was 
painting  her  portrait. 

"  I  expect  they've  stayed  to  tea.  I  haven't 
seen  old  Morewood  for  no  end  of  a  time. 
Gad  !  I'll  go  to  tea." 

And  he  got  into  a  hansom  and  went,  won- 
dering with  some  amusement  how  Claudia  had 
persuaded  Morewood  to  paint  her.  It  turned 
out,  however,  that  the  transaction  was  of 
a  purely  commercial  character.  Rickmans- 
worth,  having  been  very  successful  at  the 
race-meeting  above  referred  to,  had  been 
minded  to  give  his  sister  a  present,  and  she 
had  chosen  her  own  head  on  a  canvas.  The 
price  offered  was  such  that  Morewood  could 
not  refuse  ;  but  he  had  in  the  course  of  the 
sitting  greatly  annoyed  Claudia  by  mention- 
ing incidentally  that  her  face  did  not  interest 
him  and  was,  in  fact,  such  a  face  as  he  would 


204  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

never   have  painted    but   for  the  pressure  of 
penury. 

"  Why  doesn't  it  interest  you  ?  "  asked  she, 
in  pardonable  irritation. 

"  I  don't  know.  It's — but  I  dare  say  it's 
my  fault,"  he  replied,  in  that  tone  which 
clearly  implies  the  opposite  of  what  is  as- 
serted. 

"  It  must  be,  I  think,"  said  Claudia  gently. 
"  You  see,  it  interests  so  many  people,  Mr. 
Morewood." 

"  Not  artists." 

"  Dear  me  !  no  !  " 

"  Whom,  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  nobility  and  gentry." 

"  And  clergy  ?  " 

A  shadow  passed  across  her  face — but  a 
fleeting  shadow. 

"  You  paint  very  slowly,"  she  said. 

"  I  do  when  I  am  not  inspired.  I  hate 
painting  young  women." 

"  Oh  !     Why  ?  " 

"They're  not  meant  to  be  painted  ;  they're 
meant  to  be  kissed." 

"  Does  the  one  exclude  the  other  ?  " 

"That's  for  you  to  say,"  said  Morewood, 
with  a  grin. 

"  I  think  they're  meant  to  be  painted  by 
some  people,  and  kissed  by  other  people. 
Let  the  cobbler  stick  to  his  last,  Mr.  More- 
wood." 

"  I  wonder  if  you'll  stick  to  your  last,"  said 
Morewood. 


FORTUNATE  PEOPLE,  20* 

Claudia  decided  that  she  had  better  not  see 
this  joke,  if  the  contemptible  quip  could  be  so 
called.  It  was  very  impertinent,  and  she  had 
no  retort  ready.  She  revenged  herself  by 
declaring  her  sitting  at  an  end,  and  inviting 
herself  and  her  aunt  to  stay  to  tea. 

"  I've  got  no  end  of  work  to  do,"'  More- 
wood  protested. 

"  Surely  tea  is  compris  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
raised  eyebrows.  "  We  shan't  stay  more  than 
an  hour." 

Morewood  groaned,  but  ordered  tea.  After 
all,  it  was  too  dark  to  paint,  and — well,  she 
was  amusing. 

Eugene  arrived  almost  at  the  same  moment 
as  tea.  Morewood  was  glad  to  see  him,  and 
went  as  near  showing  it  as  he  ever  did.  Lady 
Julia  received  him  with  effusion,  Claudia  with 
dignity. 

"  I  have  pursued  you  from  Grosvenor 
Square,  Lady  Julia,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  come 
to  see  old  Morewood,  you  know." 

"  As  much  as  to  see  me,  I  dare  say,"  said 
Lady  Julia  in  an  aside. 

Eugene  protested  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
and  Morewood  carried  him  off  to  have  such 
inspection  of  the  picture  as  artificial  light 
could  afford. 

"You've  got  her  very  well." 

"  Yes,  pretty  well.  It's  a  bright  little  shal- 
low face." 

"Go  to  the  devil  !  "  said  Eugene,  in  strong 
indignation. 


2o6  FATHER  STAFFORD. . 

"  I  only  said  that  to  draw  you*.  There  is 
something  in  the  girl — but  not  overmuch,  you 
know." 

"  There's  all  I  want." 

"Oh,  I  should  think  so!  Heard  anything 
of  Stafford  ?  " 

"  No,  except  that  he's  gone  off  somewhere 
alone  again.  He  wrote  to  Ayre  ;  Ayre  told 
me.     He  and  Ayre  are  very  thick  now." 

*'  A  queer  combination." 

"  Yes.  I  wonder  what  they'll  make  of  one 
another  !" 

Morewood  was  a  good-natured  man  at  bot- 
tom, and  after  a  few  minutes'  more  talk  he 
carried  off  Aunt  Julia  to  look  at  his  etchings. 

"  So  I  have  run  you  down  at  last  ?  "  said 
Eugene  to  Claudia. 

"  I  told  you  I  didn't  want  to  see  you." 

"  I  know.     But  that  was  a  month  ago." 

"  I  was  very  much  upset." 

"  So  was  I,  awfully  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  my  fault,  Mr.  Lane  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  So  far  as  it  was  anybody's 
fault,  it  was  mine." 

«'  How  yours  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  he  thought " 

"  Yes,  I  see.  You  needn't  go  on.  He 
thought  you  were  out  of  the  question,  and 
therefore " 

"  Now,  Lady  Claudia,  are  you  going  to 
quarrel  again  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  Only  you  are  so 
annoying.     Is  he  in  great  trouble  ?  " 


FORTUNATE  PEOPLE.  2Oj 

«  He  was.     I  think  he's  better  now.     But  it 
was  a  terrible  blow  to  him,  as   it  would  be  to 
any  one." 
"  To  you  ?  " 
"  It  would  be  death  !  " 

•■  Nonsense  !  "  said  Claudia.  •'  What  is  he 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  he  will  go  back  to 
work." 

"  I  never  intended  any  harm." 
"  You  never  do." 

«  You  mean  I  do  it  ?  Pray  don't  try  to  be 
desperate  and  romantic,  Mr.  Lane.  It's  not 
in  your  line." 

"  It's  curious  I  can  never  get  Credit  for  deep 
feelino-.     I  have  spent  a  miserable  month." 
"  So  have  I." 

"  Because  I  could  not  see  the  person  I  love 
best  in  the  world." 

«  Ah  !  that  wasn't  my  reason." 
"  Claudia,  you  must  give  me  an  answer." 
Claudia    rose,    and    joined    her     aunt    and 
Morewood.     She  gave  Eugene  no  further  op- 
portunity for  private  conversation,  and  soon 
after  the  ladies  took  their  leave.     As  Eugene 
shook  hands  with  Claudia,  he  said  : 
"  May  I  call  to-morrow  ?  " 
"  You  are  a  little  unkind  ;  but  you  may." 
And  she  rapidly  passed  on  to  Morewood,  and 
with  much  sparring  made  an  appointment  for 
her  next  sitting. 

■•Why  does   she    fence  so  with    me?"    he 
asked  the  painter,  as  he  took  his  hat. 


203  FATHER  STAFFORD.  . 

"  What's  the  harm  ?  You  know  you  enjoy 
it." 

"  I  don't." 

But  it  is  very  possible  he  did. 

The  next  day  Eugene  took  advantage  of 
Claudia's  permission.  He  went  to  Grosve- 
nor  Square,  and  asked  boldly  for  Lady  Claudia. 
He  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room.  After 
a  time  Claudia  came  to  him. 

"  I  have  come  for  my  answer,"  he  said, 
taking  her  hand. 

Claudia  was  looking  grave. 

"You  know  the  answer,"  she  said.  "It 
must  be  •  Yes.'  " 

Eugene  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her. 

"  But  you  say  '  Yes  '  as  if  it  gave  you  pain." 

"  So  it  does,  in  a  way." 

"  You  don't  like  being  conquered  even  by 
your  own  prisoner  ?  " 

"  It's  not  that  ;  that  is,  I  think,  rather  a 
namby-pamby  feeling.  At  any  rate,  I  don't 
feel  it." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  You  don't  care  enough 
for  me  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  care  too  much  !  "  she  cried.  "  Eu- 
gene, I  wish  I  could  have  loved  Father  Staf- 
ford, and  not  you." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  I  was  at  the  very  center  of  his  life.  I 
don't  think  I  am  more  than  on  the  fringe  of 
yours." 

"  A  very  priceless  fringe  to  a  very  worth- 
less fabric  !  "  said  he,  kissing  her  hand. 


FORTUNATE  PEOPLE.  ZOg 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile,  "you 
are  perfect  in  that.  You  might  give  lessons 
in  amatory  deportment." 

"Out  of  a  full  heart  the  mouth  speaketh." 

"  Ah  !  does  it  ?  May  not  a  lover  be  too 
point-de-vice  in  his  speeches  as  well  as  in  his 
accouterments  ?  Father  Stafford  came  to  me 
pale,  yes,  trembling,  and  with  rugged  words." 

"  I  am  not  the  man  that  Stafford  is — save 
for  my  lady's  favor." 

"  And  you  came  in  confidence  ?  " 

"You  had  let  me  hope." 

"  You  have  known  it  for  a  long  while.  I 
don't  trust  you,  you  know,  but  I  must.  Will 
you  treat  me  as  you  treated  Kate  ?  " 

"Slander!"  cried  he  gayly.  "I  didn't 
•  treat'  Kate.     Kate  '  treated  '  me." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  " 

He  had  sat  down  in  a  low  chair  close  to 
hers,  and  she  bent  down  and  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead. 

"  At  least,  I  don't  think  you'll  like  any  one 
better  than  you  like  me,  and  I  must  be  con- 
tent with  that." 

"  I  have  worshiped  you  for  years.  Was 
ever  beauty  so  exacting  ?  " 

"  With  lucid  intervals  ?  " 

"  Never  a  moment.  A  sense  of  duty  once 
led  me  astray — dynastic  considerations — a 
suitable  cousin." 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  suppose   a   moonlight  night." 

*•  Pereant    quae  ante  te !      You    know    a 
little  Latin  ?" 
14 


2  i  o  FA  THER  S  TA  FFOltD. 

"  I  think  I'd  better  not  just  now." 

"  You  may  want  it  for  yourself,  you  know, 
with  a  change  of  gender.  But  we'll  not  bandy 
recriminations." 

"  I  wasn't  joking." 

"  Not  when  you  began  ;  but  with  me  all 
your  troubles  shall  end  in  jokes,  and  every 
tear  in  a  smile.  Claudia,  I  never  knew  you 
so  alarmingly  serious  before." 

"  Well,  I  won't  be  serious  any  more.  The 
fatal  deed  is  done  !  " 

"  And  I  may  say  '  Claudia '  now  without 
fear  of  any  one  ?  " 

"  You  will  be  able  to  say  it  for  about  the 
next  fifty  years.  I  hope  you  won't  get  tired  of 
it.  Eugene,  try  to  get  tired  of  me  last  of 
all." 

"  Never  while  I  live  !  You  are  a  perpetual 
refreshment." 

"  A  lofty  function  !  " 

"  And  the  spring  of  all  my  life.  Let  us 
be  happy,  dear,  and  never  mind  fifty  years 
hence." 

"  I  will,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I  am  happy." 

"  And,  please  God,  you  shall  always  be  so. 
One  would  think  it  was  a  very  dangerous 
thing  to  marry  me  !  " 

"I  will  brave  the  danger." 

"  There  is  none.  I  have  found  my  god- 
dess." 

The  door  opened  suddenly,  and  Bob  Terri- 
ton  entered  at  the  very  moment  when  Eugene 
was  sealing-  his  vow  of  homage.     Bob   was 


FOR  TUNA  TE  PEOPLE  2ll 

pleased  to  be  playful.  Holding  his  hands  be- 
fore his  face,  he  turned  and  pretended  to  fly. 

"Come  in,  old  man,"  cried  Eugene,  "and 
congratulate  me  !  " 

"  Oh  !  you  have  fixed  it,  have  you  ?  " 

"  We  have.  Don't  you  think  we  shall  do 
very  well  together  ?  " 

Bob  stood  regarding  them,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  think  you  will. 
There's  a  pair  of  you." 

And  he  could  never  be  persuaded  to  explain 
this  utterance.  But  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the 
thought  underlying  it  was  one  not  over-com- 
plimentary to  the  happy  lovers.  And  Bob 
knew  them  both  very  well. 


212 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Bn  3£nD  anD  a  beginning. 


P^^gHEN  Sir  Roderick  Ayre  returned  to 
"  '  fr   England,  he  had  to  undergo  much 
fc   questioning  concerning  his  dealings 
with  Stafford.     It  had  somehow  be- 


come known  throughout  the  little  group  of 
people  interested  in  Stafford's  abortive  love- 
affair  that  he  and  Ayre  had  held  conference 
together,  and  the  impression  was  that  Ayre's 
counsel  had,  to  some  extent  at  least,  shaped 
Stafford's  resolution  and  conduct.  Ayre  did 
not  talk  freely  on  the  matter.  He  fenced 
with  the  idle  inquiries  of  the  Territon 
brothers  ;  he  calmed  Mrs.  Lane's  solicitude 
with  soothing  words  ;  he  put  Morewood  off 
with  a  sneer  at  the  transitoriness  of  love- 
affairs  in  general.  To  Eugene  he  spoke  more 
openly,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  congratulate 
himself  on  the  part  he  had  taken  in  reconcil- 
ing Stafford  to  life  and  work.  Eugene  cordi- 
ally agreed  with  his  point  of  view  ;  and  Ayre 
felt  that  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  rid  of  the 
matter,  when  one  day  Claudia  sprang  upon 
him  with  a  new  assault. 

He  had  come  to  see  her,  and  tender  hearty 


A  N  END  AND  A  BEGINNING.  2  I  2 

congratulations.  He  felt  that  the  successful 
issue  of  Eugene's  suit  was  in  some  degree  his 
own  work,  and  he  was  well  pleased  that  his 
two  favorites  should  have  taken  to  one  an- 
other. Moreover,  he  reaped  intellectual  sat- 
isfaction from  the  fulfillment  of  a  prophecy 
made  when  its  prospect  of  realization  seemed 
very  scant.  Claudia  admitted  her  own  pleas- 
ure in  her  engagement,  and  did  not  attempt 
to  deny  that  her  affection  had  dated  from  a 
period  when  by  all  the  canons  of  propriety  she 
should  have  had  no  thoughts  of  Eugene. 

"We  are  not  responsible  for  our  emotions," 
she  said,  laughing;  "and  you  will  admit  I 
behaved  with  the  utmost  decorum." 

"  About  your  usual  decorum,"  he  replied. 
"  The  situation  was  difficult." 

"It  was  indeed,"  she  sighed.  "Eugene 
was  so  very — well,  reckless.  But  I  want  to 
ask  you  something." 

"  Say  on." 

"  I  heard  about  your  interview  with  Father 
Stafford  ;  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course  Eugene  has  told  you  all  I  told 
him  ?  " 

"  Probably.     I  told  him  to." 

"Well,  that's  all." 

"In  fact,  you  told  him  I  wasn't  worth  fret- 
ting about ! " 

"  Not  in  that  personal  way.  I  asserted  a 
general  principle,  and  reluctantly  denied  that 
you  were  an  exception." 

"I  hope  you  did  tell  him  I  wasn't  worth  it, 


21.  FATHER  STAFFORD. 

and  very  plainly.  But  hasn't  he-gone  back  to 
his  religious  work  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  will." 

"  Did  you  advise  him  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly.  It's  what  he's  most  fit  for, 
and  I  told  him  so." 

"  He  spoke  to  me  as  if — as  if  he  had  no 
religion  left." 

"  Yes,  it  took  him  in  that  way.  He'll  get 
over  that.  " 

"  I  think  you  were  wrong  to  tell  him  to  go 
back.  Didn't  you  encourage  him  to  go  back 
to  the  work  without  feeling  the  religion  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  did.    Did  Eugene  tell  you  that  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  I'll  never  say  anything  to  a  lover  again." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  him  to  use  his  work  for 
personal  ends — for  ambition,  and  so  on  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  a  way.  I  had  to  stir  him  up — I 
had  to  tide  him  over  a  bad  hour." 

"  That  was  very  wrong.  It  was  teaching 
him  to  degrade  himself.  ' 

"  He  can  pursue  his  work  in  perfect  sin- 
cerity.    I  found  that  out." 

"  Can  he  if  he  does  it  with  a  low  motive  ?  " 

"My  dear  girl,  whose  motives  are  not 
mixed  ?     Whose  heart  is  single  ?  " 

"  His  was  once  !  " 

"  Before  he  met — you  and  me  ?  I  made  the 
best  job  I  could.  I  cemented  the  breakage; 
I  couldn't  undo  it." 

"  I  would  rather " 

"  He'd  picturesquely  drown  himself?" 


AN  END  AND  A  BEGINNING.  21r 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder  ;  "  but 
h  lowers  my  ideal  of  him." 

"That,  considering  your  position,  is  not 
wholly  a  bad  thing." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  justified  in  doing  it  ?  " 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  see  quite  to 
the  bottom  of  him.  But  he  will  do  great 
things " 

♦*  Now  he  is  well  quit  of  me  ?  " 

Sir  Roderick  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Then  you  should  have  married  him,  and 
left  Eugene  to  do  the  drowning." 

"  Do  you  know,  Sir  Roderick,  I  rather 
doubt  if  Eugene  would  have  drowned  him- 
self?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  he  has  very  good  man- 
ners." 

They  both  laughed. 

"  But  all  the  same,  I  am  unhappy  about 
Mr.  Stafford." 

"  Ah,  your  notions  of  other  people's  moral- 
ity are  too  exalted.  I  don't  accept  responsi- 
bility for  Stafford.  He  would  not  have  fol- 
lowed my  suggestion  unless  the  idea  had 
been  in  germ  in  his  own  mind." 

Claudia's  pre-occupation  with  Stafford's  fate 
would  have  been  somewhat  disturbing  to  a 
lover  less  philosophical  or  less  sympathetic 
than  Eugene.  As  it  was,  he  was  pleased  with 
her  concern,  and  his  sorrow  for  the  trouble  it 
occasioned  her  was  mitigated  by  a  conviction 
that  its  effect  would   not   be   permanent.     In 


2  1 5  FA  1  'HE  R  S 1  'A  FFOFD. 

this  idea  he  proved  perfectly  correct.  As  the 
weeks  passed  by  and  nothing  was  heard  of  the 
vanished  man,  his  place  in  the  lives  of  those 
who  had  been  so  intimately  associated  with 
him  became  filled  with  other  interests,  and 
from  a  living  presence  he  dwindled  to  an 
occasional  memory.  It  was  as  if  he  had  really 
died.  His  name  was  now  and  then  mentioned 
with  the  sad  affection  we  accord  to  those  who 
have  gone  before  us  ;  for  the  most  part  the 
thought  of  him  was  thrust  out  in  the  busy 
give-and-take  of  everyday  life.  Save  for  the 
absence  of  that  bitter  sense  of  hopelessness 
which  the  separation  of  death  brings,  Stafford 
might  as  well  have  passed  on  the  road  which, 
but  for  Ayre's  intervention,  he  had  marked 
out  for  himself.  Claudia  and  Eugene  were 
wrapped  up  in  one  another  ;  their  love  ior 
him,  though  not  dead,  was  dormant,  and  his 
name  was  oftener  upon  the  lips  of  Ayre  and 
Morewood  than  of  those  who  had  been  most 
closely  united  with  him  in  the  bonds  of  common 
experience.  But  Ayre  and  Morewood,  besides 
entertaining  a  kindly  memory  of  his  personal 
charm,  found  delight  in  studying  him  as  a 
problem.  They  were  keenly  interested  in  the 
upshot  of  his  new  start  in  life,  and  their  blunter 
perceptions  were  deaf  to  the  dissonance  be- 
tween the  ideal  he  had  set  before  himself  and 
the  alternative  Ayre  had  suggested  for  his 
adoption.  Perhaps  they  were  right.  If  none 
but  saints  may  do  the  work  of  the  world,  much 
of  its  most  useful  work  must  gfo  undone. 


AN  END  AND  A  BEGINNING.  2I7 

Haddington  and  Kate  Bernard  were  mar- 
ried before  Christmas.  Claudia  deprecated 
such  haste  ;  and  Eugene  willingly  acquiesced 
in  her  wish  to  put  off  the  date  of  their  own 
union.  He  thought  that  being  engaged  to 
Claudia  was  a  pleasant  state  of  existence,  and 
why  hasten  to  change  it  ?  Besides,  as  he  sug- 
gested, they  were  not  people  of  fickle  mind, 
like  Kate  and  Haddington  (for,  of  course, 
Claudia  had  told  him  of  Haddington's  proposal 
to  herself — it  is  believed  ladies  always  do  tell 
these  incidents),  and  could  afford  to  wait. 
Eugene  went  to  the  wedding.  He  was  strongly 
opposed  to  such  foolish  things  as  standing 
quarrels,  and  Kate  was  entirely  charming  in 
the  capacity  of  somebody  else's  wife  :  it  is  a 
comparatively  easy  part  to  fill,  and  he  had  no 
fault  to  find  with  her  conception  of  it.  The 
magnificence  of  his  wedding  present  smoothed 
his  return  to  favor,  and  Kate  had  the  good 
sense  to  accept  the  role  he  offered  her,  and 
allowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  she  had  been 
the  faithless,  he  the  forsaken,  one  ;  whereas 
in  reality,  as  Ayre  remarked,  she  had  her- 
self doubled  the  parts.  Claudia  judiciously 
avoided  the  question  of  her  presence  at  the 
ceremony  by  a  timely  absence  from  London, 
and  enjoyed  only  at  second-hand  the  amuse- 
ment Eugene  derived  from  Haddington's  hesi- 
tation between  triumph  over  his  supposed 
rival,  and  doubt,  which  had  in  reality  gained 
the  better  part.  In  spite  of  this  doubt,  it  is 
allowable  to  hope  for  a  very  fair  share  of  work- 


2  j  8  FA  THER  ST  A  FFORD. 

ing  happiness  in  the  Haddington,  household. 
Kate  was  hardly  a  woman  to  make  a  man 
happy  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  would  not 
prevent  him  being  happy  if  his  bent  lay  in 
that  direction.  And  Haddington  was  too  en- 
tirely contented  with  himself  to  be  other  than 
happy. 

Eugene's  wedding  was  fixed  for  the  Easter 
recess,  and  among  the  party  gathered  for  the 
occasion  at  Millstead  were  most  of  those  who 
had  been  his  guests  in  the  previous  summer. 
The  Haddingtons  were  not  there — Kate  re- 
torted Claudia's  evasion  ;  and  of  course  Staf- 
ford's figure  was  missing  ;  but  the  Territon 
brothers  were  there,  and  Morewood  and  Ayre, 
the  former  bringing  with  him  the  completed 
picture,  which  was  Rickmansworth's  present 
to  his  sister.  The  party  was  to  be  enlarged 
the  day  before  the  wedding  by  a  large  com- 
pany of  relations  of  both  their  houses. 

The  evening  before  this  invasion  was  ex- 
pected, Eugene  came  down  to  dinner  looking 
rather  perturbed.  He  was  a  little  silent  dur- 
ing the  meal,  and  when  the  ladies  withdrew, 
he  turned  at  once  to  Ayre  : 

"  I  have  heard  from  Stafford." 

"  Ah  !  what  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  has  joined  the  Church  of  Rome. 

"  I  thought  he  would." 

Morewood  grunted  angrily. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  to  ? "  he  asked  Ayre. 

"  No  ;  I  think  I  referred  to  it." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he's  honest  ?  "  More- 
wood  went  on. 


AN  END  AND  A  BEGINNING.  2\Q 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Eugene.  "  I  could 
never  make  out  why  he  didn't  go  before. 
What  do  you  say,  Ayre  ?  " 

Sir  Roderick  was  a  little  troubled.  This 
exact  following  of,  or  anyhow  coincidence 
with,  his  advice  seemed  to  cast  a  responsibility 
upon  him. 

"  Oh,  I  expect  he's  honest  enough  ;  and  it's 
a  splendid  field  for  him,"  he  answered,  repeat- 
ing the  argument  he  had  urged  to  Stafford 
himself. 

"  Ayre,"  said  Morewood  aggressively, 
"  you've  driven  that  young  man  to  perdition." 

"  Bosh  !  "  said  Ayre.  "  He's  not  a  sheep  to 
be  driven,  and  Rome  isn't  perdition.  I  did 
no  more  than  give  his  thoughts  a  turn." 

**  I  think  I  am  glad,"  said  Eugene  ;  "  it  is 
much  better  in  some  ways.  But  he  must  have 
gone  through  another  struggle,  poor  fellow  !  " 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Ayre. 

"  Anyhow,  it's  rather  a  score  for  those 
chaps,"  remarked  Rickmansworth.  "  He's  a 
good  fish  to  land." 

*'  Yes,  it  will  make  a  bit  of  a  sensaticis," 
assented  Ayre.  "  We'll  see  what  the  Bishop 
says  when  he  comes  to  turn  Eugene  off.  By 
the  way,  is  it  public  property  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  in  the  papers,  I  expect,  to- 
morrow.    I  wonder  what  they'll  say  ! 

"  Everything  but  the  truth." 

"  By  Jove,  I  hope  so.  And  we  alone  know 
the  secret  history  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ayre  ;    "  and  you,    Rick,  will 


220 


FATHER  STAFFORD. 


have  to  sit  silent  and  hear  the  enemy 
triumph." 

Lord  Rickmansworth  did  not  think  it 
worth  while  to  repudiate  the  odium  theo- 
logicum  imputed  to  him.  Probably  he  knew 
he  was  in  reality  above  the  suspicion  of  caring 
for  such  things. 

"Shall  you  tell  Claudia?"  Ayre  asked 
Eugene,  as  they  went  upstairs. 

"  Yes  ;  I  shall  show  her  his  letter.  I  think 
I  ought,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  ;  will  you  show  it  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  in  fact  he  asks  me  to  give  you  the 
news,  as  he  is  too  occupied  to  write  to  you. 
The  note  is  quite  short,  and,  I  think,  studi- 
ously reserved." 

He  gave  it  to  Ayre,  who  read  it  silently.  It 
ran  : 

"  Dear  Eugene  : 

"A  line  to  wish  Lady  Claudia  and  yourself 
all  happiness  and  joy.  Do  not  let  your  joy  be 
shadowed  by  over-kind  thoughts  of  me.  I  am 
my  own  man  again.  You  will  see  soon  by 
the  papers  that  I  have  taken  the  important 
step  of  being  received  into  the  Catholic  Church. 
I  need  not  trouble  you  with  an  argument.  I 
think  I  have  done  well,  and  hope  to  find  there 
work  for  my  hands  to  do.  Pray  give  this 
news  to  Ayre,  and  with  it  my  most  warm  and 
friendly  remembrances.  I  would  write  but 
for  my  stress  of  work.  He  was  a  friend  to 
me  in  my  need.  They  are  sending  me  to 
Rome  for  a  time  ;  after  that  I  hope  I  shall 
come  to  England,  and  renew  my  friendships. 


A N  END  AND  A  BEGINNING.  2 2  I 

Good-by,    old    fellow,    till   then.      I   long   for 
cjjt'  ayavotypoqvri  koX  coig  ayavlq  hntecaiv. 

"  Yours  always, 

-  C.  S." 

««  That  doesn't  tell  one  much,  does  it  ?  " 
"  No,"    said    Ayre  ;    "  but   we   shall   learn 
more  if  we  watch  him." 

Claudia  came  up,   and   they  gave   her  the 
note  to  read. 

She  read  it,  asking  to  have  the  Greek  trans- 
lated to  her.     Then  she  said  to  Ayre  : 
<<  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 
"  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 
"  Because  you  are  most  likely  to  know." 
«  Mind,  I  may  be   wrong  ;  I   may  do  him 

injustice,  but  I  think " 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  said  impatiently. 
»  I  think,  Lady  Claudia,  you   have  spoilt  a 
Saint  and  made  a  Cardinal  !  " 


IN  THE  QUARTER. 

BV   ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS- 
Author  of  "  The  King  isu  Yellow." 

PRESS  NOTICES: 
Stew  York      "It  lb  a  story  of  life  in  Paris,    „    .    that  nas 
World  good  descriptions  of  dramatic  sceuas." 

Book  Buyer,       "  It  is  a  story  of  a  man  who  tried  to  recen- 
New  York  cile  irreconcilable  facts.    .    .    Mr.  Cham- 

bers tells  it  with  a  happy  choice  of  words,  thus  putting  'to 
proof  the  art  alien  to  the  artists.     .    .    It  is  not  a  book  for 
the  unsophisticated,  yet  its  morality  is  high  and  unmis- 
takable.  .    ." 
Brooklyn  Citizen       *'  Pull  of  romantic  incidents.    .    ." 
Boston  Courier       "Interesting novel  of  French  life.    .    ." 
Boston  "  A  story  of  student  life  written  with  dash  .    ,H 

Traveller        and  surety  of  handling.    ,    ." 
Boston       "Well  written,   bright,   vivid;    the  ending  is 
Times  highly  dramatic." 

Few  York  "Charming story  of  Bohemian  life,  with  Its 

Sunday  World        buoyancy,  its  romance,  and  its  wild  joy  of 
youth    .    .    ,    vi^Jly  depicted  in  this  graceful  tale  by  one 
who,  like  Daude^,  knows  his  Paris.    Some  pages  are  ex- 
quisitely beautiful." 
Philadelphia       "Idyllic — charming.    Mr.  Chambers' story 
Bulletin  is  delicately  told." 

ST.  Y.  Evening       "It  is  a  good  story  in  its  way.    It  Is  good 
Telegram  in  several  ways.    There  are  glimpses  ©f 

the  model  and  of  the  grisette— all  dainty  enough.    The 
most  of  it  might  have  come  from  so  severe  a  moralist  as 
George  Eliot  at  even  Bayard  Taylor.    .    ." 
N.VY.  Commercial       "Av^ry  vivid  and  touchingly  told  story. 
Advertiser  rj.ne  tale  is  interesting  because  it  re* 

fleets  with  fidelity  the  life  led   by  certain  sets  of  art 
students.    A  genuine  romance,  charmingly  told." 
Congregationalism      "  Vivid,  realistic.    There  is  much  of 
Boston  nobility  in  it.    A  decided  and  excel- 

lent moral  influence.   It  is  charmingly  written  from  cover 
to  cover.    .    ." 
Vogue,  "  The  author  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  liter- 

New  York  ary  skill  shown  in  what  is  reported  to  be  hi* 
first  attempt  at  novel  writing,  his  characterization  being 
especially  clever.  The  author  treats  his  theme  with  a  re- 
unement  that  softens,  but  does  not  gloss  over,  the  excesses 
of  temptations  that  beset  youths ;  and  he  shows  himself 
►'..silly  observant  of  everyday  lifeof  the  Latin  Quarter.  .  ," 
Cloth,  $1.25.       Paper,  50  Cents. 


fAA**.+  *-«*A^*A*4.*4   *.   •!,    «A.A  AA^^A  4fe  **-_A^1<| 


J 


'S 


Captain  King  is  acknowledged  to  be  with- 
out a  peer  in  his  chosen  field,  which  he  indus- 
triously cultivates.  There  has  for  some  years 
been  a  steadily  increasing  demand  for  his 
army  stories,  and  if  it  were  put  to  a  vote  to- 
day, as  to  the  most  popular  American  novelist, 
the  name  of  Captain  King  would  undoubtedly 
be  found  among  the  leaders. 


"TRUMPETER  FRED," 

Cloth,  75c. 
"AN  ARMY  WIFE," 

Cloth,  $1.25. 
"FORT  FRAYNE," 

Cloth,  $1.25  j  Paper,  50c 

"A  GARRISON  TANGLE," 

Cloth,  $1.25. 

"NOBLE    BLOOD    and    A    WEST 
POINT  PARALLEL," 

Cloth,  75c. 

For  so.'"  />"•  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  on  receipt  of 
Price  by  the  Publisher, 

F.   TENNYSON    NEELY, 

114  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


r 


I 


Buoys  Courtships. 

From  the  French  of  "  Gyp." 

Translated  by  Katherine  Berry  di  Zirega,  ivith 
full-page  drawings  by  S.  B.  Aspell. 


Neely's  Prismatic  Library,  Gilt  Top,  75  Cents. 

I'll  say  one  thing-  for  your  "  Gyp  "  book — 
fdiat  it  repays  close  reading,  every  sen- 
tence being  a  studied  bit  of  effect,  and  that 
in  this  respect  <  _ne  of  the  latter-day  and  ar- 
tistic French  novels,  no  matter  how  light, 
puts  to  shame  our  sprawling-  English  ro- 
mances. I  haven't  seen  the  orig.nal  text, 
but  if  it  is  much  lighter  and  brighter  than 
this  version,  it  must  be  perfection  ii.decd. 

Mile.  Bijou  really  took  me  in  at  th£  be- 
ginning. I  never  saw  a  character  so  well 
disguised  by  the  author.  Until  half  way 
through  the  book  I  thought,  like  all  her 
satellites  and  kindred,  that  she  was  too  good 
and  sweet  and  guileless  for  this  wicked 
world.  My  final  conclusion  is  that  Becky 
SLa'  p  was  a  dunce  and  Forgct-me  not  a 
saint  beside  this  artless  little  fiend—  who 
parts  husbands  and  wives,  drowns  her 
teacher,  kills  an  actress,  breaks  up  a  dozer.' 
men  (and  boys)  and  finally  marries  an  old 
man  after  herself  seeing  that  his  whote 
fortune  is  settled  upon  her.  She  is  a  crea- 
tion, and  if  of  a  little  heavier  weight  would 
live  in  literature. 

The  book  ought  to  make  its  way  on  its 
merits.  Faithfully  yours, 

EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN. 


For  sale  everywhere  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  publisher, 

F.  TENNYSON  NEE]  ".  II4  5tli  Ave,,  New  York, 


k^fc^y^^^^^Hb^Sk^^y^V^  ^/Hfe^&^^^i 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


iNlA 


5m-2,'31 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  386  443    6 


Y^b 


